


The Sonata

by Ifyouthknew



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Art Theft, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extradition II: The Actual Extradition Part, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Lost & Found Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode: s05e10, Romance, Shawn starts out single, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ifyouthknew/pseuds/Ifyouthknew
Summary: Pierre Despereaux is free again. In the meantime, it seems like Shawn has found his Prince Charming. Our Head Detective Lassiter is convinced that Despereaux is up to something. And that something is quietly waiting in the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. A month-long unwarranted stakeout ensues. Lassiter would like to think his prey is just Despereaux…
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Pierre Despereaux/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 92
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I overzealously recommended a song at the end of some chapters. Hope you'll enjoy them and my story.
> 
> 2\. First time posting.

** August 1983 **

It was only a warm day in Santa Barbara. People showed rare patience they otherwise wouldn’t have brewed in this exhausting summer. A six-year-old boy dragged his father to the mall.

“Shawn, you promised you’d go fishing with me if I take you here, right?” the father said. “You didn’t mention _buying_ anything.”

“But Dad—” Shawn was frustrated, looking up from a shelf full of toys to meet his father’s eyes.

“No, I’m just kidding. Pick one.” Henry smiled, content that he could still fool his son. He didn’t want this kind of day to end too soon.

“How about two?” Shawn said, hastily picking up a Wild West cowboy and a James Bond action figure.

“One. And I’ll buy you an ice cream after we are done fishing.”

Shawn stared at the toys in his hands, seemingly contemplating the best choice. He said, “That’s not fair at all. Why can’t I have both?”

“Shawn.” Henry squatted down to Shawn’s eye level. “It’s not unfair. Being only able to have one is what makes life so special. Those who have it all or those who wish to have it all won’t be as happy as you if you make the right choice.”

“How do I know I’ve made the right choice?”

“That’s the tricky part, Shawn. A lot of the times, you simply don’t know. It’s always about what you think of your choice from this day onward.”

“They’re both so…alluring…” Shawn still hadn’t moved his eyes away from those two tiny figures.

“Gus taught you that word?” Henry couldn’t resist his glee.

“Of course he did,” Henry mumbled to himself when Shawn didn’t answer him. “Okay, how about that magic 8-ball there.” He pointed at the higher shelf.

“Already have one.”

“Shawn, if you don’t pick one right now, you don’t get anything, not even ice cream. We go straight to the dock and I’ll also convince your mom not to buy you any of these two.” Henry hoped he had covered all the grounds.

“I’ve decided,” Shawn said after taking a deep breath. He slowly put down the action figure in his left hand. The toy was coated with sweat from the boy’s tight grip.

Henry took Shawn by his empty hand and headed for the exit. When he glanced back, he caught his son putting the toy he had already put back on the shelf in his pocket.

“Shawn, please tell me you’re not stealing a toy!”

“I’m not,” Shawn said sheepishly. “I was going to pay them back when I have the money.” He sighed and finally rotated his wrist to show the one in his hand he’d like to take home. “This one. Just this one.”

“At least you’re not going to be the greatest thief that ever lived,” Henry grumbled, walking again toward the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The Best Day,” George Strait  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/5ApdBBa3MtTzpF0MbpB2NG)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/George-strait-the-best-day-lyrics#lyrics)


	2. Chapter 2

** 2010 **

On a Friday afternoon, inside Santa Barbara County Courthouse, a room full of people was waiting for a verdict.

“The jury finds the defendant not guilty.”

“Son of a bitch!” Lassiter yelled out loud, punching the seat in front of him. All eyes fixed on him in the silent room.

“Detective Lassiter, if you don’t contain yourself immediately, the court will have no choice but to hold you in contempt,” the elderly judge said with a flat tone. It almost seemed like she saw that coming a mile away.

Lassiter sat in his seat stiffly, eyeing the back of the head of the defendant, as if he could put a hole in it by doing that. They both were dressed in their finest suit, waiting for this big day.

“The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned.” The judge yawned and struck the gavel.

The said defendant turned his head and gave the detective an all-teeth smile.

* * *

On their way out, Juliet put her hand on his partner’s shoulder. “We’ll get him next time.”

“He’s slyer than those evil squirrels. And I thought _they_ were the real scumbags in nature. Mark my word, O’Hara, one day, I’ll let him rot in jail and beg for my mercy,” Lassiter declared, waving his pointed finger. “For the rest of his life!”

“That’s what I meant, Carlton. We’ll get him next time.”

“Pierre!” an eerily familiar voice called out.

Both detectives turned around and saw the jumpy young man waving his arms enthusiastically at the bottom of the stairs in front of the courthouse.

Pierre Despereaux, the defendant, walked past them nonchalantly without sparing them another look toward the young man.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me…” Lassiter rolled his eyes.

“Shawn, I knew you’d come. I wish you could’ve witnessed me being acquitted in that room yourself.” At that moment, Pierre turned his head toward Lassiter slightly, making sure the head detective heard what he was saying. “Your friend here isn’t too joyful about that.”

“Yeah...I’d like to see that too, but psychics aren’t invited to these events. They’re kind of exclusive. Normally it’s just boredom in there, a lot of Z’s flying, so I haven’t organized a psychic strike yet. And Lassie,” Shawn said matter-of-factly, “has that same face when it comes to carnivals and cruises. Just ignore him.” He gave Despereaux a toothy grin, eyeing his up and down. “So what’s next? What is the world-renowned art thief going after now?”

“An acquitted art thief,” Despereaux reminded him. “Let’s not talk about that in front of a court and two dedicated detectives, shall we? Dinner. Tonight. You and me. And we can talk about anything you’d like to know.” Despereaux draped his arm around Shawn’s shoulder, propelling him to walk with himself.

Their jaw dropped to the floor, as Lassiter and Juliet watched them melting into the crowd.

“Did Despereaux just asked Shawn out on a date?” asked Juliet, after she collected herself.

“He already did it once in Canada. What the hell is his obsession about Friday?” Lassiter growled and clenched his teeth. He was more pissed now than when the jury said “not guilty.” And he was pretty sure Despereaux’s obsession wasn’t toward Friday.

* * *

The Psych office was uncharacteristically quiet. The only sound was Shawn’s best friend shaking his head wildly as if he had used ecstasy minutes ago.

“You are not going on a date with him, Shawn.” Gus finally stopped his movement, looking at his friend with daggers in his eyes.

“Gus, I told you this is not a date. It’s just a friendly dinner between two adults who admire each other on an extremely healthy level.”

“I got back to my real job for two hours, and you’re planning on going on a date with a world-class criminal. That is a record. Even for you.”

“An acquitted one,” Shawn promptly corrected him.

“I don’t care what the law says. You and I both know he committed those crimes he was accused of. So no, I will not allow you to be bewitched by that guy again.”

“Bewitched? Wow, I haven’t heard that word since…forever. Look, Gus, I appreciate your sudden protectiveness in the case of my love life. But he’s not my Jerry Maguire. He didn’t have me at hello. I’m not his Felicia Fancybottom. That’s obviously you. Anyway, I’ll just go there and have a lovely conversation with him. That's all.”

“And where is he taking you?” Gus asked knowingly.

“Bouchon,” Shawn murmured, looking anywhere but at Gus.

“The most romantic restaurant in Santa Barbara.” Gus made sure he put emphasis on the word “romantic.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘the most’ exactly…”

“And how do you plan on going? Don’t say the Blueberry, ’cause you must be out of your damn mind if you think for a second that I’ll take you there.”

“I wasn’t,” Shawn interjected. “He’ll pick me up at seven.”

“Oh, is that right, Shawn? That does make it less like a date.” Gus feigned a relieved tone. “Last question—Who will pay for this dinner?”

“I’m guessing—not you?”

“Shawn!”

“The only thing I can probably afford is peanuts from the vendor outside of our office. So the chance of me paying in such an upscale restaurant is slimmer than the slimmest model from Pandora’s secrets.”

“You mean Victoria’s secrets?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“So, Despereaux asked you out on a date the second time in a year. And the only reason the first time didn’t work out was that he was being extradited back to the States from our neighbor Canada. As soon as he is a free man, he asked you out again. He booked a fancy romantic restaurant. He’s going to pick you up. And he’s going to pay for all the costs. You tell me again this is not a date. I rest my case.” Gus sat down solemnly in his chair like an experienced prosecutor finishing his final arguments. 

“How did you know what happened in Canada? You weren’t there when he said ‘Lunch. Friday.’” Shawn mimicked Despereaux’s voice. “Lassie couldn’t have told you or did you two develop a special bond and start gossiping behind my back? Let me tell you something, Gus, it’s not healthy for your mind and soul to watch so much _Golden Girls_.”

“Don’t change the subject, Shawn. And _Golden Girls_ is a sophisticated and brilliant sitcom. If you really do watch it someday, you will agree with me.” Gus sucked in a breath and continued saying, “You told me that yourself back in Canada. You were flustered when you came to me and said and I quote ‘Pierre just asked me out on a date.’”

“If you have to put it that way…”

* * *

“Can I take your order now, sir?”

Bouchon Santa Barbara was lit with warm light inside. The sound of utensils clinking against plates and murmurs between lovebirds sitting across each other was quite soothing in the ears of almost everyone in this restaurant. Almost. But Shawn had something gnawing in his heart he had to dump out before the dinner started. He put down the menu.

“Pierre. I know it may sound like a stupid question, but Gus is under the impression that we’re having a date. I mean—um—not that I’m against it or something.” He stumbled over the words.

“You didn’t pose a question.”

Shawn cleared his throat. “Um—Are we having a date? Romantically?”

The waiter who stood next to their table waiting to take their orders rolled his eyes only for a second, but that of course didn’t escape Shawn’s eyes. “I’m pretty sure the eye roll wasn’t as delicious as the Strawberry Bread Pudding the chef saved especially for you just now.”

When they walked into the Bouchon, Shawn took a glimpse of what the waiter was doing when the kitchen door opened, but he kept that information to himself like always.

The waiter didn’t do a good job hiding his panic. “I’ll come back later when you’re ready. Please, take your time, sir,” He mumbled.

Despereaux found this quite amusing. He answered Shawn first, “It could be. That can be entirely up to you. Or we can just see how this evening goes from now.”

“That sounds like a plan. A good plan. An excellent plan. Not a ‘pla’, but a plan—”

“Shawn, there’s no need to get so strung up. I won’t eat you.” Despereaux leaned in with both his elbows on the table. And using a slightly lower voice, he said, “At least not here.”

Shawn felt a flush of heat rushing toward his ears. “Well, I’m not worried about that.”

“Do you mind if I ask how did you know the waiter and the chef’s little bonding?”

Shawn reminded and assured himself that he was the master of first dates. He raised his fingers to his temples and smiled mischievously. “Psychic detective. Remember?”

If Despereaux suspected anything, he didn’t lay it on the table. Instead, he smiled and asked Shawn if he was ready to order. Unsurprisingly, Shawn ordered Strawberry Bread Pudding for dessert just to relieve his itch.

Fifteen minutes later, between the lovely conversation and downsizing dishes, Shawn looked out of the front window. Outside across the street, a dark blue Crown Vic just pulled up.

Despereaux turned his head toward where Shawn was looking. “The detective really is devoted to his job. I respect that.”

“Police work is not his job. It’s his faith. I honestly believe he does confession every time he doesn’t catch a bad guy in the church we call SBPD. You know what? I’ll add something spicy as desert for the both of us,” Shawn said and pulled out his phone without hesitating. He grinned with the mere thought in his head.

Across the street, sitting in the lemon-scented pleather car seat, Lassiter was so focused on his prey he didn’t bother to check the caller ID. “Lassiter,” he answered the phone.

“Lassie!”

Lassiter ducked down immediately, hitting the steering wheel in the process. “Spencer! What do you want?!”

“Oh, honey, I’m not cheating on you. You shouldn’t have felt the need to tail me. Or is it another scary man I’m psychically seeing wearing Colonel Muscum Lassiter’s mustache for your Civil War reenactment outside the restaurant I’m currently sitting in?”

Lassiter slowly straightened his back, doing his best to act casual. He picked up the binocular sitting in the passenger seat. After getting clear visions on Shawn and the scumbag near him, he answered, “I’m not tailing you. I’m tailing Despereaux. If you hadn’t agreed to go on this dinner date with him, this would be none of your business.”

“Last time I checked, you’ve got a caseload heavier than the Brokeback Mountain. Did Chief agree with this?”

“First of all, that’s not the correct way to use the Brokeback Mountain analogy. The mountain was named that way because of its specific physical feature, not its weight—”

Shawn interrupted him, “I just unwisely assumed every mountain is heavy. Go on.”

“Secondly, I clocked out an hour ago and I can do whatever I want in my leisure time including but not restricted to following you and your new friend to your first date.”

“May I suggest watching _Golden Girls_ over and over again instead. Gus seems to enjoy that.” Shawn winked at Despereaux and continued saying, “Or watch any of your recorded episodes of _Cops_ again.”

“How the hell did you—You know what? Never mind.” Lassiter hung up the phone.

Shawn grinned, taking another big bite from his pudding before he even put down the phone.

“Lassiter must be really concerned about you,” Despereaux said, seeing the glow and ease from the young man, which minutes ago weren’t as amplified as now.

“No. He just put justice above all.” A short while ago, Shawn would’ve been thrilled to hear that kind of comment about Lassiter. But he had decided that after all these years there was no light at the end of that tunnel. So he continued chatting with this man in front of him, focusing on his eyes, trying hard to throw Despereaux’s words and Lassiter to a dark corner of his mind.

* * *

After their dinner, Despereaux and Shawn drove to the West Beach.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Despereaux asked.

“Why else did we come here?”

The wind on a September evening was cool and welcoming. It gently sneaked into the loose clothes of the men and women on the beach.

Shawn couldn’t take away his eyes from Despereaux. It had been a long time since he felt so drawn to another man…Well, to be honest, since Lassiter. Despereaux’s light blue eyes were darker at this moment. It was because of the reflection of the quiet dark sea or the dim street lamp on the other side, Shawn couldn’t tell.

Lassiter drove his Crown Vic with an excruciatingly slow pace to match Shawn and Despereaux’s side-by-side beach walk. “How romantic!” he said out loud to himself bitterly.

Despereaux stopped and turned to face the sea. Behind them, Lassiter’s car screeched to a halt.

“The wind is quite salty tonight. A little sweet even.” Shawn regarded the sea with a faint smile.

“You grew up in this place. Does that surprise you?”

“No. It’s just I haven’t walked on the beach for a while. It’s a slow activity. Normally not my taste,” answered Shawn. “Not with you though.”

Despereaux appeared to be saddened by that for a fleeting moment. “ _The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair..._ ”

Shawn wondered what made Despereaux’s voice so peaceful and calming. “Are we still having the same conversation? ’Cause either you quoted something or I just completely zoned out.”

“It is from ‘Dover Beach,’ one of my favorite poems. I like the end part the most. I’ll tell you more next time if you are still interested.”

Shawn shrugged.

“Sometimes, when I can’t find my own words, which happens more often than I want it to be, I’ll find solace in others’.” With that said, Despereaux took Shawn’s hand and started walking again.

Back in the Crown Vic, Lassiter’s jaw muscles were starting to ache. But he didn’t peel his eyes away from them. Minutes later, his car stopped again. He didn’t notice how hard his foot stepped on the brake. All his senses were being drawn to the two figures not walking at this moment.

Despereaux had put his right hand on the back of Shawn’s neck, his left arm gently around his partner’s waist. They started kissing hastily but soon it became passionate and overwhelming. Shawn pulled Despereaux tighter and closer to him.

Both without knowing how much time had passed, they pulled back. After a moment, Shawn leaned in again, forehead to forehead with Despereaux. “Wow…”

From the corner of his eyes, Despereaux saw the car sped away behind Shawn. “We must have angered him,” He whispered. But he couldn’t help himself but smile.

“What?” Blood rushing in his ears nonstop, Shawn was still drowning in the fervent kiss earlier.

“Yes, wow…” Despereaux said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “As Long as You Love Me,” Sleeping at Last  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/5912OMlUlTztBFkmuMMEjR)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Sleeping-at-last-as-long-as-you-love-me-lyrics)


	3. Chapter 3

Shawn walked into the old Mee Mee's Fluff and Fold he so proudly called his “apartment” and switched on the lamp beside the door.

“Ahhhhhh—”

“Ahhhhhh—”

Shawn’s scream wakened the still limbs on his couch.

“What are you doing in the dark?!”

“What do you think I’m doing, Shawn?! I’m worried about you, so I came here to check on you.” Gus stood up, regaining his composure. His friend did startle him to a state of tachycardia that his weekday aerobics couldn’t even match.

“By sleeping on my couch?”

“I got tired waiting for you. And I ate some highly processed carbohydrates after dinner. It was just a sugar crash.”

“You ate what?”

“Two snickers bars.” Gus shrugged as if it was a given.

“You could’ve just called, like a normal guy anxiously waiting for his male friend returning from a date with a gentleman.” Shawn turned to the embrace of his couch cushions.

“Ha! I told you it was a date.” Gus jumped off the ground and followed it by a somewhat awkward victory dance. “And nothing is ever normal with you. It was a date—with a criminal!”

“Okay, I admit. It was a date. And never have I been happier to be wrong. But here’s a question—What would you have done if I had stumbled in with Pierre, arms all on each other heading to this couch, huh? We could’ve landed on you.”

Gus stopped his dance suddenly and shivered with the idea Shawn put in his head. “I have to say I hadn’t thought this through,” Gus unwillingly acknowledged his indiscretion. “You know what? It’s late. Napping here on your couch—Worst idea ever. I’m glad you’re okay. But I need my beauty sleep. I’ll hear about everything tomorrow morning when we go pick up our paycheck. And I mean everything.”

* * *

The moment Gus heard Shawn’s seatbelt click, he dived straight into the center of the target. “Shoot! Now!”

So on their ten-minute drive to the SBPD, Shawn spilled everything that happened on his date last night as Gus had requested.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this—It was kind of romantic,” Gus said.

“Only kind of? That was the most heart-warming date I’ve ever been to.” Shawn leaned back on his seat contently. “And that Lassie part was pure gold. But I can’t believe you called the police on me. I know it was you who gave Lassie the address. _Et tu, Brute_?”

“Um, I didn’t call Lassiter. Lassiter called me. You have to deal with the fact that your friends care about you. I care most but that’s neither here nor there.”

Shawn went silent for a while, looking out of the side window. The sea was still visible on his side. “He’s not dangerous. Pierre. He’s not.”

“He dangled some guy from a balcony. And he pointed a gun at you. Twice!”

“Let’s not bury ourselves in the minutiae.” Shawn pouted.

“He is a drug and you’re high on him. You can see he’s no Neal Caffrey if you have a clear head right now,” Gus said.

“Dude, I’d say he’s pretty Neal-Caffrey-like. Art thief? Check. Gentleman? Check. Impeccably well-dressed? Check. Quoting things I don’t understand? Check and check. How much more similar do they have to be to reach your standards? You’ve watched most of _White Collar_ episodes with me, Gus!”

“There’s one important fact—Despereaux is on the wrong team.” As Gus was saying this, they turned a corner and parked in front of the SBPD.

* * *

SBPD had its usual office atmosphere. Telephones ringing. Printers humming. Doors whimpering. But there was just one extra noise that was driving Juliet to the wall.

“Carlton! Stop clicking your pen! I swear to god if you keep doing this I’ll shove every one of your pens straight to your heart!” Juliet marched to Lassiter’s desk.

“Um, sorry. I didn’t realize that.” Lassiter seemed unfocused even when talking to his partner.

Juliet’s anger soon dissipated. “What’s going on? You aren’t yourself this whole morning,” she asked. “Are you still mad Despereaux walked?”

As soon as Juliet said this, Shawn and Gus sauntered into the bullpen.

“Speak of the devil…” Lassiter grumbled, not wanting to peel away his eyes from the desk. He especially didn’t want them to land on Shawn.

“Lassie! Jules!” Shawn walked straight past the reception area despite Gus’s protest. Gus followed nonetheless.

“Shawn, you seem more cheerful than usual today,” Juliet regarded Shawn’s enthusiastic greeting tone.

“I’ll have you know, Jules. I went on the best first date _ever_ with a charming gentleman. And I’m counting on a second, so that’s an alarmingly new sentiment for me.” Shawn grinned widely.

“A second?!” Lassiter and Gus cried out at the same time.

“You really went on a date with Pierre Despereaux?” Juliet couldn’t believe his friend’s unrealistic lifestyle could break its own ceiling. “Shawn, that was not a very genius idea.”

“You’ve stooped so low, Spencer. It amazes me that you haven’t ended up in jail with him in the first place,” Lassiter said.

“Guys, I’m a grown-up. I can very well take charge of my own love life, don’t you think?”

Lassiter stood up, jabbing his finger in the air. Shawn unconsciously took a step back. “If you _were_ a responsible grown-up, it wouldn’t be hard to notice that Despereaux is an extremely dangerous, scheming, and manipulative thief. His appearance is just his façade. Bringing him into your life can result in serious consequences. Not just you, but also people around you. And he’s fourteen years older than you!”

“Jeez, Lassie, would you relax? Biased much? Age is nothing, just like gender. Although the number fourteen did take me by surprise,” Shawn casually pointed out. “I assumed it was ten, eleven, maybe twelve, even thirteen—”

“You mean you didn’t know?!” Gus asked incredulously.

“It doesn’t matter, Gus. He’s here. I’m here. We live in the present. That’s all that matters.”

Juliet handed Shawn a paper she printed out while the two men were planning to drown Shawn with saliva. “These were all the crimes he was accused of. Take a look. If you still insist on hanging out with him, I won’t say another word.”

“If your conversation last night didn’t even involve age, I doubt he told you those with his tongue in your mouth.”

Gus and Juliet turned their head to look at Lassiter in bewilderment.

“Um, I mean, um…” Lassiter tried but failed miserably to form a coherent sentence. He was surprised he said those words aloud. He didn’t want anyone to know why he was bothered that much about Shawn’s love affair, including and most importantly himself.

Shawn seemed unfazed by the words Lassiter’s blurted out. “I’ll take that into consideration, Jules,” he said as he folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket without giving it a look first. “And Lassie, don’t be my dad who found out I was kissing a nineteen-year-old girl when I was fifteen.”

“I’m not like your father, Spencer! I’ll—” Lassiter was cut off by another man’s voice.

“Of course you’re not. I’m not a squirrel hater.” Henry Spencer just got to the SBPD and was now standing beside the gang, crossing his arms.

“I always forget he’s working here now,” Shawn whispered to Gus.

“What’s this about?” Henry asked. “Shawn? I don’t think you have a new case right now.”

“Not now, unless you have some juicy ones that may involve a beheaded actor, with only head left in his apartment or his body. Still acceptable. I’m here to pick up the paycheck with Gus,” Shawn answered. “And we’re leaving.” He turned around, dragging Gus with him. Gus stumbled and almost lost his balance.

Henry turned to look at the two detectives sternly.

Juliet headed to her desk. Lassiter half-heartedly wanted to tell the man everything so he could have the older Spencer to stop this nonsense. But after he turned into the target of Henry’s gaze, he dropped that thought immediately. There was no way he would willingly be the one to say anything. Especially when Shawn was doing a throat-slitting gesture toward him behind his father’s back.

Henry walked away then, murmuring, “Young people…I’m that old now?”

Lassiter stared at his computer screen, but he didn’t take in anything. His mind was filled with images of Shawn and Despereaux on the beach. Frame by frame. Walking…Holding hands…Kissing…He shook his head to dump out these rubbish thoughts. He had work to do, he told himself. He couldn’t dwell on his enemy’s dalliance. So he straightened his back, opened Google, put his hands on the keyboard, and typed in “most valuable art in Santa Barbara.”

* * *

Shawn and Gus drove back to the Psych office. En route, Gus didn’t allow that time to pass unproductively. He listed everything that was wrong with Shawn and Despereaux being together. “He smokes, Shawn.” Gus wrinkled his nose. “We agreed when we were fifteen that we won’t date anyone who smokes.”

“He doesn’t smoke. Those blonde cigarettes he left after he stole something were only put there as a signature.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“The filters weren’t even put in a mouth.”

“Still don’t.”

“He has a refreshing smell like wood and forest. Not cigar.”

“I’m the super-smeller here, Shawn. Not you,” Gus claimed. “So I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You can sniff all you want.”

“…And lastly, you aren’t even into art.” Gus finished his speech when they walked into the office together.

“Hello, Burton, or do you prefer I call you Gus as well?” Despereaux sat in Shawn’s chair with his hands crossed.

“You can call me whatever you want, but I’d rather not hear your voice in my life,” Gus answered harshly.

Shawn elbowed Gus in his side. “Gus! Don’t be the grumpy red bird from ‘Angry Birds.’”

“Tsk!” Gus elbowed back.

“It’s okay, Shawn. I understand Gus’s discretion regarding our relationship. He’s merely being a responsible friend.”

“Best friend,” Gus corrected him.

“Um, this is already a relationship?” Shawn asked tentatively.

Gus walked closer to Despereaux from his behind and craned his neck. Shawn saw his nostrils flare like the wings of a hummingbird.

“Relax. I’m not your usual lovers looking for commitment. I’d rather we enjoy the present. Although I do have a nasty habit of planning ahead, I know I’m lucky to have you any day in my life,” Despereaux answered, ignoring Gus’s weird behavior behind him.

Shawn pointed at Despereaux and gave Gus a wide smirk.

“I’m here to ask you whether you would like to join me for a second date.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

“Absolutely!” Shawn nodded enthusiastically.

“Not!” Gus exclaimed, following his friend’s answer immediately after. “Um, Despereaux, could you excuse us for a second?” Gus nudged Shawn to the other side of the office.

“Dude, this needs to stop. I’ll make my own decisions from now on. Trust me, I won’t let my Magic Head down,” Shawn said quickly before Gus could utter a thing. “Now, if you would be so kind as to lend me your credit card.”

“That man’s got some sweet mouth I’ve ever seen,” Gus shook his head once again showing his deep disapproval and sighed. “He does smell incredible. Okay. Go. You have my blessing _for now_. But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Which is—eating frozen carrots?”

“Shawn!” Gus used a warning tone, but still handed Shawn one of his credit cards. “Ask him what kind of perfume he uses.” Gus lowered his voice.

“Sure thing, buddy.” Shawn patted Gus on his shoulder.

They both walked back to where Despereaux was sitting.

“Yes. The answer is two hundred percent yes,” Shawn said cheerfully.

“Why two hundred?” Despereaux asked, looking amused.

“Gus and I both agreed. That’s two.”

“I do hope Detective Lassiter won’t decide to join us again. He won’t like what he saw, just like last night.” Despereaux said as he stood up. “I’ll pick you up later at the same time. And Gus?”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter that Shawn isn’t drawn to art as I do. What we both are fascinated by is the intricacy of perfectly executed crimes. Victimless, of course.” Despereaux stepped closer to Shawn and planted a kiss on his lips.

* * *

“O’Hara, I found something,” Lassiter called out to his partner.

Juliet walked toward him, wondering what case he was referring to.

“ _The Sonata_ , painted by Frederick Childe Hassam in 1893, is currently being exhibited in the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. There are thirty days left.” Lassiter gestured his computer screen, feeling smug about his small victory. In the painting Lassiter referred to, a blonde girl in a white dress was sitting in front of a piano, head bowed low, hands holding music sheets. And a rose was resting on the piano.

“That is a beautiful piece,” Juliet said, one hand on Lassiter’s chair, one hand on his desk. “But what?”

“I bet Despereaux will steal it. He already tried once in Belgium last summer but was spotted before he could succeed. It’s not the most valuable one in Santa Barbara, but it’s his unfinished work, O’Hara. I didn’t chase him for seven years for nothing.”

Juliet looked down at her partner with a bemused expression. “Since when did you start predicting crimes?”

“I’m telling you, that bastard will snatch it under our nose if we don’t keep an eye on him.”

“Carlton, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“What?! It’s my responsibility for the city and its citizens,” Lassiter answered as if he was doing a normal day’s work. “Despereaux should’ve been long gone by now instead of sticking around in Santa Barbara. He’s staying here for some reason. And I just found that reason.”

“Or maybe he’s just staying here for Shawn.” Juliet shrugged.

“O’Hara?!” Lassiter suddenly felt betrayed. “Listen to yourself!”

“What?! He’s a human. He has feelings,” Juliet retorted. “Even if Despereaux is trying to steal something, it’s a long shot. We don’t know for sure this is the one he’ll take or when he’ll take it. We don’t have any evidence to put a surveillance unit on him twenty-four seven. Chief will never agree with this.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’ll keep a tab on this guy in my own time.”

“Is it because throwing Despereaux back in jail means he won’t be able to date Shawn anymore?”

Lassiter looked flustered. “Did you slip on the ground on the way over here and have a brain injury? I couldn’t care less about who or _what_ Spencer is dating.” Lassiter’s phone started ringing. He answered it like grasping the last straw, happy to avoid any further questions from his partner. “Lassiter.”

“They’re going somewhere tonight again,” Gus said on the phone. “And I don’t have any more information. Shawn won’t tell me. So if you plan on following them again, I suggest you come up with some strategy quick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A Wonderful Guy,” Doris Day  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/7hUEIugyP59RTVZbv7rtvs)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Doris-day-a-wonderful-guy-lyrics)


	4. Chapter 4

“Tell me again why did you come with me tonight?” Lassiter asked Juliet in his Crown Vic, holding binoculars in front of his eyes.

It had been two weeks since Despereaux was released. Shawn and he had gone out almost every night to different places in Santa Barbara. And Lassiter was as good as his words—He tailed them whenever he could. Tonight was on a hill looking out on the entire peaceful city. The sun hadn’t disappeared from the horizon at this time, and the sky had a clear light purple color.

“I just thought if catching Despereaux means preventing my friend from getting hurt, I’d like to lend a helping hand. Even though everything is just a hypothesis,” Juliet answered. “And me keeping you company will make you less like a desperate and jealous stalker.”

“O’Hara,” Lassiter said slowly, gritting his teeth, “I have no choice but to start following them with their dates because coincidentally, that’s when I’m off work. The museum is crowded during the day, so there is a good chance he’ll commit the crime at night.” Lassiter took in a deep breath, and continued talking, “And I still haven’t figured out another way to follow Despereaux without witnessing their PDA.”

“How did you figure out this place though? We did drove from the police station straight to here,” Juliet asked curiously. “Did Gus tell you that?”

“No. Guster hadn’t been able to provide anything valuable since the first one. I’m guessing Spencer is keeping him out of the loop on purpose,” Lassiter said. After a pause, he added, “I may or may not have tracked Spencer’s phone.” Lassiter’s voice became smaller and smaller to the point Juliet was struggling to hear him clearly.

“You what?!”

“Look, I did it on a whim when Spencer came into the station the other day, okay? He left his phone on my desk, so I took it to the I.T department and asked a friend to do some trick.” Lassiter noticed the expression on Juliet’s face. His seat somehow became increasingly uncomfortable. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his! He left it right on my desk!”

Juliet gave Lassiter a disapproving look, but she was laughing on the inside to the point of rolling on the ground. “Carlton, I think that counts as police misconduct…”

“I know.”

Silence ensued. Neither of them said anything afterward.

But Juliet broke the ice. “Why don’t you follow Despereaux to where he lives after their dates?”

Lassiter snarled more impatiently, “Because he stayed in Spencer’s dry cleaner every time!”

“Oh,” said Juliet knowingly with a soft voice.

“I stayed outside of his place the first three times then I came to the conclusion that Despereaux, the faux-gentleman, just won’t leave until the next morning. So I only do stakeout before midnight after work. Stop asking questions!”

More time passed. The only sound was made by Lassiter’s finger tapping on the steering wheel incessantly.

“It’s a nice place though,” Juliet felt the compulsion to say something.

The evening mist rolled in over the city, making everything at the bottom of the hill seemingly intangible.

Lassiter snorted, “I don’t even want to know how Despereaux came up with all these ideas.”

* * *

Nearer to the verge of the road, looking out on the red roofs which were like waves of a sea, Shawn asked the man beside him, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, Shawn, very much,” Despereaux answered sincerely. “It brings me back to the days when I was living in Spain.”

“What were you doing there?” Shawn asked, but he soon decided otherwise. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t actually want to know what you did in those cities full of valuable stuff.”

Despereaux was taken aback by Shawn’s avoidance of this topic. “I didn’t know you think of it that way,” he said. “You seemed genuinely interested in my line of work before.”

“I would be if we weren’t together. Jules gave me your record the other day. Not exactly record, just the things you were accused of. I threw the paper out. Didn’t look at it. I’m definitely curious. But what do they say—Curiosity kills the psychic detective who’s dating an art thief.”

“That _is_ a famous saying.”

“My dad took me here hiking almost every Sunday when I was living with him. For years I had always found it a grind. An extremely unnecessary part. All those times when I could’ve spent watching _The Greatest American Hero_. Until one day when I really, really looked at this view…”

Shawn was lost in his thought. Despereaux didn’t interrupt him.

“Pierre, my dad also taught me justice. Not necessarily like what the grumpy detective behind us deems of it. Do I take advantage of loopholes? Sure, all the time. But no matter how much I want to rebel against him, whether when I was ten or now, it’s ingrained in here.” Shawn pointed at his heart. “Don’t tell him that though.”

“Shawn—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask considering you’ve been an art thief for God-knows-how-long. Just promise me you won’t steal anything without at least giving me a notice.”

Despereaux didn’t respond to Shawn right away. The sky was getting darker and darker, but Shawn’s face was lit with immense hope. He couldn’t say no.

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Shawn raised his left pinky and put on a cheeky smile. His mouth opened wide enough to catch a fly when Despereaux actually crossed it with his own finger.

* * *

“Why are we never at your place? Your home must be nicer and fancier than mine,” Shawn asked when he took out a pineapple from the fridge.

“Yours is fascinating enough. Fancier in another sense.”

Shawn tilted his head back, implying he wasn’t as gullible.

Despereaux just turned and looked at the car that had been stalking them for over two weeks.

“Lassie?” Shawn couldn’t say he was surprised. “It’s not like he’s going for breaking and entering all of a sudden if he knows where you live.” He started cutting the pineapple.

“In my line of work, I make enemies, Shawn. Some like Lassiter—harmless. Some are vicious—like my former lover Valeria you met in Canada. But I’ve learned to trust no one. It’s just a necessary discretion.”

“Not even me?” Shawn trained his eyes on the moving knife, not sure what kind of answer he would receive.

“I already trust you more than anyone in my life,” Despereaux said. “Does that answer your question?”

Shawn nodded and handed him the crudely cut pineapple slices.

“I notice you have some _idée fixe_ toward this particular fruit.”

“You have no idea…”

* * *

Another week passed. Nothing more than a few robberies happened in this quiet little city.

The Santa Barbara Museum of Art opened and closed as usual. _The Sonata_ was still seen by hundreds of eyes every day.

Juliet began to believe that Despereaux had really turned a new leaf. She stopped going with her partner for surveillance after the third time.

Gus was trying hard to convince himself that this was just another phase for his best friend. He stopped grilling Shawn about his relationship with a criminal.

Henry was still none the wiser about his son’s new life-changing development even though he worked in the station now and spent more time with him.

But no, not for the Head Detective of the SBPD Carlton Lassiter. He kept on his routine of following his prey whenever he could. But he had almost reached the verge of a breakdown. Both of his mind and body.

“God! You look awful!” Henry said, standing in front of Lassiter’s desk.

“What do you want, Spencer?”

“Hey.” Henry raised his hands in the air. “Just a friendly reminder that you’re not made of steel. And I don’t want to see your cases suffer.”

“You are not even my superior!”

“Consider yourself lucky that’s the truth.”

Lassiter growled.

There were only five days left for the exhibition of _The Sonata_. After that, the owner of the painting would take it to another country. Lassiter was sleep-deprived. But he downed another cup of coffee to keep himself focused. He couldn’t afford to slip now.

“At least talk to someone,” Henry suggested before he walked away.

* * *

There was a knock.

Shawn dashed toward his apartment door excitedly.

“Lassie?” Not the person he was expecting.

Lassiter saw the grin on the younger man’s face turned into a confused expression.

“Can I come in?”

“Um, sure?” Shawn stepped back and let the detective in. He closed the door.

Forgoing pleasantries, Lassiter cut to the chase, “Spencer, I have reason to believe that Pierre Despereaux is going to steal something in the near future.”

“You’re kidding, right? Isn’t that the whole reason you went on every date with us? I would’ve invited you to join us closer, but Pierre is firmly against that,” Shawn said light-heartedly. “He’s put his foot down. You call it traditional, I call it faithful.” He didn’t try to suppress his grin when he saw the blush on Lassiter’s ears.

“Stop joking around. I’m serious about this. There’s a painting called _The Sonata_ in the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. It’s been there for over a month and only five days were left. After that it’ll be taken to another exhibition in another country.”

Shawn had known that Lassiter liked to jump to the conclusion since the first day they met in the interrogation room. This seemed a little far-fetched for the detective. “How do you know this is the exact painting he’ll steal? There must be more than one in that museum. Unless you suddenly developed the ability to see the future. I can’t even do that as a professional psychic.”

“This is the one he had tried to steal in Belgium last summer. He never succeeded. I’m telling you, Spencer, this is the reason he stayed in Santa Barbara for so long.”

Shawn didn’t answer him. Lassiter saw his Adam’s apple bobbed and a momentary saddened expression on his face. He mentally kicked himself for not learning more lessons about sensitivity from his partner. Maybe he was helpless in that department.

“I don’t mean—”

“It’s okay. You’re just following your hunch. I taught you well, Lassie,” Shawn said, with an easily recovered smug face. “But why do you tell me now? You have weeks to do that.”

“I…um…” Lassiter scratched his face nervously. He had allowed his stubbles to survive for too long. Perhaps Henry did have the right to judge his awful appearance. “I need your help.”

“Wow. It’s a shame no one’s here to witness that. I’ll get my camera. Are you willing to say that again?”

“Spencer, knock it off!”

“Lassie.” Shawn cleared his throat and smiled. “Carlton. There’s no way Pierre is going to steal anything.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“He promised me.”

“He promised you! That is such a valid proof of innocence. Let me just go on my merry way!” Lassiter made sure he used his less sarcastic voice, keeping in mind what he did earlier.

“Contrary to what everyone seems to think, I’m not stupid,” Shawn said with a flat tone. “I know who he was. I know what he’s capable of.”

Lassiter opened his mouth trying to retort, but Shawn continued before he could make a sound, “He’s a good person, not some hardened thug who will take a life without blinking. So I won’t let his past be the reason for me to reject our future. I’m happy now. More than ever. So if you can’t get your head around the fact that there is someone who loves me enough to be with me for more than three weeks, there’s the door.”

Lassiter found it hard to believe Shawn just shared his feelings with him, although in an aggravated manner. He considered budging and leaving right now, somehow adding more theatrics to this seemingly absurd exchange. But he walked closer to Shawn instead.

“Shawn,” he said, “even if he’s stayed for you, that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly another person. He doesn’t think what he did was wrong. You have to consider the possibility that he’s already got eyes on the painting. I need your help.”

Shawn shook his head. “No, detective. You’re on your own on this one.”

Lassiter left then.

Shawn wished Lassiter had said more.


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s in the sweet stage of a relationship and deeply in love. He won’t listen to any of us,” Gus told the two detectives in a corner of the SBPD bullpen. After hearing the tale of Lassiter’s persuasion-gone-wrong, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “I should’ve nipped it in the bud weeks ago.”

“Carlton, maybe Despereaux doesn’t want to risk it this time with Shawn. It’s been too long. As far as we know, he hasn’t made any move,” Juliet said comfortingly.

“This thing’s not over. I can’t give up now,” Lassiter said, looking more determined than ever.

“Maybe I could go and ask Shawn again later? Or we tell Henry?” Juliet suggested.

All of them turned their head to look at Shawn’s father, who was currently sitting at his desk giving them a killing glare. They felt a chill ran down their spine at the same time, so they huddled closer.

“Telling Mr. Spencer would only push Shawn to our enemy’s side further,” Gus said resignedly. “I don’t think any of us can change anything at this point. Maybe we should just roll with the punches.”

Juliet wanted to add more suggestions. But a voice startled them.

“What are we doing here, detectives? And Mr. Guster?” Chief Vick asked warningly.

“Um—”

“Nothing!”

“I need to get to my real job.” Gus left hastily.

Chief was left with her two scheming detectives. “Can either of you inform me what you were doing so secretively in the last few weeks?”

Juliet suddenly found her thumbs insanely captivating.

Lassiter saw an opportunity. “Can we talk in your office, Chief?” He eyed the older Spencer carefully.

Chief led them into her office.

Juliet mouthed “Really?! Now?!” to her partner, but she followed him inside.

Lassiter gave her a slight nod. This might just be his last hope. The beginning of the end of everyone’s misery. At least his.

* * *

“Detective, need I remind you that you have no evidence? All you’ve got is some random online research.”

“Chief, I totally understand. But we have a special circumstance on our hands. We have to do something before it’s too late,” Lassiter said with two hands on his hips.

“What special circumstance?

Juliet cut in before his partner, meaning to soften the blow, which was proven to be difficult, “Despereaux is sort of having a romantic relationship with one of us.”

“One of you two?” Chief was quite confused by what she was hearing.

“No! God. No. It’s Shawn. He’s Shawn’s boyfriend now,” Juliet explained quickly, trying to blow away Chief’s misunderstanding as soon as possible.

Lassiter snorted and rolled his eyes at the sound of “boyfriend.” But the truth was he didn’t know a better word to describe what Despereaux was to Shawn or Shawn was to Despereaux. A mistress? A mister? A lover? They all sound much worse than “boyfriend.”

Chief’s jaw dropped open. She sat down in her chair, slowly taking in the news. “Does Henry know about this?”

“No, we kept it away from him, and I doubt the younger Spencer would want to send his father to his maker himself by spilling the beans any time soon.”

“Carlton!” Juliet snapped.

After a moment, when Chief didn’t respond anything, Lassiter got impatient. “Chief—”

“I will allow you to go talk to whoever is in charge at the museum and the owner of that painting tomorrow. Ask questions and give them a warning. We can’t do anything else without their permission and solid evidence from your side. According to you, Despereaux certainly didn’t leave any the first time.”

Lassiter resisted the urge to jump up and down in the office like two baboons he knew. He cleared his throat slightly, and said, using a perfectly managed tranquil voice, “Thank you, Chief.” He started walking toward the door with his partner.

“I really hope Henry didn’t kill him when he knows.” Chief sighed, watching her two detectives leave.

Looking at each other with bemusement, they decided not to turn around and ask her she meant Shawn or Despereaux.

* * *

Shawn woke up from an unfamiliar bed in the late morning the next day.

Last night was the first time Lassiter dropped their trail. So they took the chance to visit his boyfriend’s “shabby abode.” But this was not the first time Shawn had been here. He had snuck in this house multiple times during the day without alarming either Despereaux or Lassiter.

He lay on his side to look at his lover. “Pierre, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been here before. Your home and bed had seen my nimble body before last night.”

“How did you know where I live?” Despereaux lay on his side as well, smiling at Shawn.

His finger was midway to his head out of his habit when he decided to tell the truth, at least part of it, considering what he was going to ask his boyfriend next.

“I pulled a Lassie.”

“You mean you followed me,” Despereaux said this more like a statement rather than a question.

“Yep.”

“I knew, Shawn. I saw you in the security feed from my house.”

Shawn pulled the sheet slightly upward to cover more of his upper body.

Despereaux laughed out loud. “Not in the bedroom, of course. You don’t think I would have told you if I had been recording our late-night affair?”

Shawn let out a laugh of relief as well and relaxed a little. “And another thing,” Shawn said when Despereaux got up from the bed to get dressed. “Lassie came to me last night. He mentioned a painting called _The Sona_? Ring any bells to you?”

Despereaux kept putting on his undershirt with his back toward Shawn. “ _The Sonata_. Yes, I remember it as clearly as if I’m looking through the De Beers Centenary Diamond. A mesmerizing art piece. I could tell you more about my history with it if you lift the ban.”

Shawn gave it a serious thought. “No. Just tell me do you or do you not plan to waltz into that museum and steal it in the next few days.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Good enough for me,” Shawn whispered into Despereaux’s ear as he kneeled on the bed and hugged him from behind. He rubbed his hair on Despereaux’s neck.

Despereaux patted Shawn’s arm and closed his eyes.

* * *

For the first time in more than twenty-six days, Lassiter had a good night’s sleep, waking up fully rested.

But when he came into the SBPD and checked Shawn’s whereabouts on his computer using the signal the tech guy installed, he was a little more than annoyed.

Yes, Shawn had been to that place during the day more than once, Lassiter was aware of that. But he didn’t realize that he was looking at Despereaux’s temporary home address. However, according to the red dot’s fixed movements in the last twelve hours, it sure as hell was.

He told himself to let it slide, and drove to the museum with his partner in heart-stabbing silence.

“Guster, what are you doing here?” As Lassiter went out of his car, he saw Gus standing outside of the front door of the museum, both hands in pockets.

“Juliet told me you were coming here. We’re in this together, remember? I need to see this thing through as well. Take me with you or I’ll find another way you won’t like.”

Lassiter groaned but gestured Gus to follow them inside.

“I’m the Head Detective of the SBPD Carlton Lassiter. This is my partner Juliet O’Hara. That is, um, never mind. We called earlier requesting a meeting with your curator.”

The receptionist nodded and led them to an inner office.

“How may I help you, detectives?” The curator was a skinny elderly woman with a full head of gray hair and a warm smile. She soon reminded Gus of Margaret Atwood. “And you are?” The curator turned to Gus.

“Burton Guster. The best friend of the suspect’s current but soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.”

Juliet cut in, “Ms. Newman. As we talked on the phone, there is a risk that _The Sonata_ will be stolen in the next few days. If you agree, we’d like to add to your security team and put surveillance on the inside at night. But in my opinion, the safest way is to end its exhibition as soon as possible.”

“Wait. You’re the suspect’s what?” The curator still had her attention on Gus, clearly shocked by his revelation.

Before Gus could explain further, Lassiter said, “If it’s possible, we’d like to talk to the owner of the painting as well.”

“I’ve contacted Mr. Rank to meet us this morning. He is the owner. Fortunately, he’s in Santa Barbara before the end of our current exhibition. How about you take a look around the museum? I’m sure he’ll arrive shortly.”

They walked out of the office then.

“Well, she wasn’t so enthusiastic about keeping her museum safe, was she?” Juliet said. “She didn’t even ask any details.”

Gus raised his hand to suggest he was asked a question by the curator, but it only earned him an impatient tone from Juliet. “About the suspect. Not you.”

Lassiter sighed. “Another one of those who are afraid of the bad publicity if the police gets involved.”

“So this is it, ha? _The Sonata_.” Gus scanned the painting up and down.

“Yep.” Lassiter nodded. “You see, the strokes are really strong, very textured. You can feel the music jumping out of—” The dazed expression on the two faces beside him prompted him to defend himself. “What?! So I can't understand art?!”

Both Gus and Juliet shook their head frantically without hesitation.

* * *

“Detectives. Mr. Guster.” Mr. Rank, the owner greeted them with a courtesy nod. He was a middle-aged heavily built man. Although he was dressed in an obviously expensive and tailored suit, none of the others in the room thought it suited him. They all had the same thought—Richness’s worst presentation.

“Mr. Rank—” Lassiter started saying.

“No. To whatever you’re about to ask. The painting is safe and will be for the rest of the exhibition. I highly suggest you use tax-payers’ money on somewhere more useful. Like cleaning up your department? ’Cause I’ve seen it.” Mr. Rank was the only one who laughed in this room.

“With all due respect—” Juliet was surprised by Mr. Rank’s uncooperativeness.

“Despereaux, the skilled art thief is out there in Santa Barbara right now, who, need I remind you, already has tried to steal your painting a year ago!” Lassiter stepped closer and closer to Mr. Rank in this tight office space.

But Mr. Rank wasn’t intimidated by the detective’s intrusion of his personal space at all. “I’m sorry your time was wasted. Like I said, this was all in your imagination.”

“You’ll regret this,” Lassiter growled and pointed a finger to the uncaring and snobbish face in front of him. He turned to the curator. “Ma’am, at least allow the police to do some surveillance outside of the museum.”

“I’m really sorry, detective. But I do believe we can manage on our own without police involvement.”

* * *

“Stay,” Shawn said while walking on the boardwalk outside of the Psych office. “Stay longer. We could watch _The Godfather_ marathon in my office. And Gus is wrapped up in something somewhere else right now.”

“I’d love to, but I couldn’t,” Despereaux answered. “My day job is waiting for my attention. Yours as well.”

“Yes, art appraisal is definitely better than this.” As he was saying this, Shawn put his arms around Despereaux, looking up to meet his eyes longingly. He leaned in to give Despereaux a quick kiss on the lips.

“Tonight?” Despereaux asked.

“Dad called. He wants me to go over to his house for dinner tonight. Maybe I could eat his steak with chopsticks instead of Western silverware. I heard it’ll make eating quicker. See, you don’t cut it. You just bite. Then I can leave there sooner.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have enough time.” He moved his hand to cup the back of Shawn’s head and pulled him closer. Their chests were pasted together. He could feel Shawn rested his face on his shoulder. “We’ll have enough time.”

They remained like this there for a while. Even swaying with wind from side to side.

“When the time is right,” Despereaux said, pulling away slightly, “would you consider coming with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can go anywhere you want. Africa. Europe. Take a bite of everything the world is willing and not willing to offer.”

“You don’t like it here?”

“You do?”

“If you asked me five years ago, the answer is absolutely not, no, nay, nope,” answered Shawn. “But things have changed now. Gus is here. Psych is here. My life is here.”

“Surely you miss those good old days when you were running around not attached to anything? And this time, it won't be just you. I’ll be there.”

“I was running away from something last time.”

“Maybe you can see it as running to something with me,” he said softly. “Just think about it. You and me. Without a care in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Somewhere Only We Know,” Lily Allen  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/3DDGhkxq3FeUorZppSgeLE)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Lily-allen-somewhere-only-we-know-lyrics)


	6. Chapter 6

The air was damp and heavy after some light rain in the afternoon. Even for the two childlike best friends, it added something sticky to their mood.

“Gus,” Shawn said in the Blueberry on their drive to his father’s house, “I think I’m gonna tell him.”

“Tell whom what?”

“Tell my dad I’ve met someone.”

Gus let out an incredulous gasp, his eyes popping out. “You’re telling him about Despereaux?!”

“Not in detail of course. I’ll just say I’m in a new relationship. That’s all. It’s me and my dad, Gus. We never have a heart-to-heart. I wasn’t going to, but Pierre is quite special, and he asked, um…”

Gus was hyperventilating at this moment. He jumped smack-dab to the middle of the worst conclusion and assumed Despereaux got down on one knee. “He asked you to marry him?!”

“God no! Don’t put that idea in my head. Ever.” Shawn scratched his eyebrow. “And it’s not like we can get married in California right now. Prop 8—more like Prop Hate. I’ve never hated a prop that much. Not since I tripped on that teapot and broke both of my arms during high school musical rehearsal. Even then I got to be excused from a math test.”

Gus screwed up his face regretfully. “That was an important test. Mrs. Miller was convinced you only broke one arm and faked the other. She told the whole class when you didn’t show up that you were a dirty little liar.” Wordlessly, they both chuckled.

Dropping the topic that was a rabbit hole, Shawn turned his body slightly to his friend in his seat and picked up where they left off. “He asked me to come with him.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.”

The Blueberry screeched to a halt. They parked outside of Henry’s house. “You’re leaving and you don’t know when you’ll be back,” Gus said, mostly to himself, looking anywhere but at Shawn. “Just like after high school…”

“No, Gus. I haven’t actually thought about it. Are those tears?”

“It’s raining in my car…What do you think, Shawn?!” Gus snapped. “Of course I’m crying! You and Despereaux are gonna be Thelma and Louise together. And I’ll be left behind…I’ll be—Oh god! I’m Rose!”

“Wait. Who’s Rose?”

“Doctor’s Rose”

“Doctor who?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? I’m really confused right now, Gus.”

There was a knock on the passenger side window. Shawn rolled it down.

“Hello, father. Sorry you have to witness this ugly scene. Gus wouldn’t get out of the car until I promise to buy him everything on the menu at Taco Bell.”

Henry sighed and grumbled, “What did you do this time, Shawn?” He led them inside the house.

* * *

At the time when they finished their meals, Gus still hadn’t managed to suppress his convulsive sobs.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Henry said after putting all the plates in the sink. He pointed at his son and then at the porch. “You. Outside. Now.”

After they closed the glass door behind them, Henry crossed his arms and tilted his head back. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. Really, Dad.” Shawn ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve met someone. Romantic-wise. Hand in hand. When-Harry-Met-Sally style. I guess Gus just feels a bit needy. I was going to tell you anyway before you dragged me out here.”

Gus appeared on the other side of the glass door. “Harry and Sally had known each other for twelve years before they got together. If anyone’s Harry and Sally, it’s you and me.” His voice was smaller after falling through the thick glass. But his face clearly said he was peeved.

“You want to be my Sally?”

“No. Shawn. I want you to use movie references correctly.”

“Who is this Sally?” Henry asked.

“ _He_ is my new boyfriend, whom you have nothing to worry about. He's sophisticated and well-mannered. This has been so far the most grown-up relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“He must be someone special, ha kid? I never thought I’d live to see this day.”

“Well, this is the day, Dad. I _am_ —coming out. To you. Sort of. Doing all the cliché and stuff. I still like girls. It’s complicated.” While he was saying this, Shawn’s hands danced in the air the whole time.

“I knew all along, Shawn. I mean the day you find someone special enough to share that information with your dad.”

“What?”

“A father always knows, kid. Especially the father who taught you how to be observant.”

“You never said anything.” Shawn's tone was accusing.

“ _You_ never said anything.”

Henry saw his son didn’t respond, so he filled in the silent blank. “I’m glad you told me, Shawn. I really do. So what’s this mystery man’s name?”

“Well.” Shawn laughed nervously. “This has been enough father-son bonding for both of us to have some sweet aftertaste for a whole year. I think we should end this conversation right now.”

“His name is Pierre Despereaux,” Gus answered for his friend instead.

“Gus!”

“Sounds really familiar. One of your high school classmates?”

“No—”

“He’s British,” Gus said.

“No, he’s not!”

“Canadian?”

“No, he just went there the last time. He’s a Santa Barbara citizen.”

“What—His accent—How is he—” At that moment Gus had an epiphany. “That’s why he was tried in Santa Barbara!”

Shawn opened his eyes wide, glaring at Gus. Knowing what was coming, he angrily whispered to his friend through clenched teeth, “What have you done?!”

“Tried? Are you telling he’s a criminal?!” Henry raised his voice an octave.

“Former criminal. I’ll nicely have you know.”

“He was released only three weeks ago,” Gus added.

“After the twelve angry men and women cleared his name.”

“For lack of evidence, not because he didn’t commit all those art thefts.”

“The one you put away the time I went up to Canada to bail you out?” Henry asked, not wanting to believe where this was going.

“Yes, Pop! Since everything is cleared, let’s go, Gus!”

“Is that why you were crying, Gus?”

“No,” Gus said.

“Yes.” Shawn nodded at Gus drastically, afraid his friend adding more fuel to the fire.

“Gus, say whatever you want,” Henry encouraged.

“Um...” Gus wasn’t sure telling the older Spencer that the criminal was taking Shawn away at this moment would be a well-thought-out idea. He only spilled the beans because he was upset about what he heard earlier. But now he had somewhat come to the realization that Henry might not be the best solution to the dilemma. “I mean ‘yes’?”

Shawn sighed with relief.

“I don’t understand, Gus. You said ‘no’ seconds ago.”

“Maybe…um…Mr. Spencer, Despereaux was fourteen years older than Shawn?” Gus answered tentatively, facing the now highly flammable man. He retreated a big step from the other side of the glass door before getting a response.

“What?!”

Shawn didn’t know to kick Gus or to thank his topic diversion ability. “Dad—”

“For how long?”

“About three weeks.” Shawn knew what his father was asking.

“That’s why those three were scheming behind your back.” Henry pointed at Gus.

Shawn was aware of that as well. Every time they went to the SBPD for a case, he could see them huddling in the corner when they thought he wasn’t paying any attention to them.

“Is it because of me?” Henry blurted out the words. He had to ask. “You found someone way older than you but a criminal.”

“Not everything is about you, Dad.”

“Is this what they call father complex?” Henry decided he was way past the stage of feeling embarrassed at this point.

Gus cut in, “Daddy issue.”

“Ew! Ew! God! Stop! Both of you! Don’t summarize my emotions into a psychological cliché.” Shawn was ready to leave this conversation and never get back to it. “I love him. He loves me back. It’s that simple. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m not trying to meddle your love life, Shawn. I’m trying to keep a criminal from taking advantage of my son.” Henry jabbed his finger in the air. “You need to wake up before things get out of your hand!”

“Is that so?”

* * *

For the next three days, nothing really happened. _The Sonata_ was ready for its next journey and Lassiter was waiting for that final moment. He got one chance to detour to Despereaux’s house the day before the last day when he was out and about for another case.

“He could do so much better,” Lassiter mumbled to himself when the house flew into his view.

The house was—Lassiter couldn’t deny it—normal. It sat in a quiet suburban street. This was far away from what he’d expected. He sat across the street from the house, fingers tapping the steering wheel. There was one thought he was trying hard to ignore—Perhaps Despereaux really wanted to make a fresh start.

Ten years from now, Shawn would stand in that kitchen, asking Despereaux if he’d like another cup of coffee in a breezy afternoon just like this. They would go for a walk hand in hand on the West Beach as they did on their very first date. They would go back home after a few hours and snuggle on a valuable vintage couch some queen used that Despereaux stole years ago. TV playing on the background, Despereaux’s hand roamed up Shawn’s thigh…Lassiter banged his head on the window. He told himself that sleep deprivation was the only culprit of his unimaginable imagination.

After half an hour, he drove back to work. There was only one day left, he thought, and he would just have to wait.

* * *

It was the last night of the exhibition. Outside of the museum at 8 p.m. in the dark, scarce visitors were in sight. Perhaps a museum containing hundreds of art pieces acted as a repellant for the youngsters in Santa Barbara in this day and age.

Juliet asked, “He lives in a what?!”

“A ’60s housewife home,” Lassiter told her again.

Juliet contemplated for a while. “Doesn’t that suggest he’s trying something new? Like a normal person’s life like us?”

“Speak for yourself, O’Hara. I’m neither like him nor a ’60s housewife.”

“They work harder than you, you know. Those housewives,” Juliet said. “The museum will close at nine. I don’t think he’ll come or come through the front door.”

“Go. I have this covered.”

“You sure? ’Cause if you need me—”

“I don’t need anyone. Go enjoy your night.” Lassiter kept his eyes on the museum. “I mean it, partner.”

Juliet left then to the comfort of her own bed. She really wished this night turn out to be a quiet one.

* * *

“What kind of recreation did you prepare this time?” Despereaux asked, sitting on Shawn’s couch.

“‘Super Mario Galaxy 2.’”

“I had my reservations. But this small man has been proven to be addictive to me.”

“He’s the best,” Shawn said. “I wanted to be the world’s greatest plumber for a whole month when I was ten. Just like Mario.”

“Gus’s not available tonight?”

“Yeah. He’s preparing for some meeting, pharmaceutical, company stuff.” But the truth was Shawn just didn’t want to leave Despereaux out of sight for this particular night, even though he had convinced himself that Despereaux was and would be innocent. So he asked him to come here.

“Lassiter was outside of my place yesterday afternoon,” Despereaux told Shawn.

“How did he figure that out? You dropped bread crumbs for him from the station?”

“I have to take a leap and say he found out for the reason none other than your sojourn there days ago.”

“You don’t think I told him, do you?” Shawn sat down as well, raising one of his eyebrows.

“No, Shawn. Nevertheless, may I have your phone, please?” Despereaux asked. “Do you find the battery drain away more quickly than usual?” Shawn handed his phone to him.

“Yeah. I need to charge it a lot recently. For like a whole month...” Shawn trailed off, realizing this was more than a coincidence.

“Just as I suspected,” Despereaux said, focused on examining the phone. “I’m not an expert. But I believe there’s spyware in here.”

Shawn feigned a serious tone, but he couldn’t stop the smile tugging on his lips. “We’re compromised.”

“You’re not worried about this.”

“Come on! It’s Lassie. It’s the furthest he’ll go. I’ll just go to the station tomorrow and have some laugh at his expense.”

Despereaux didn’t answer after that. He started the video game and paused it. “Shawn. I find myself craving for your delicious pineapple smoothie. I have been for a few days. Could you make us some before we start?”

After Shawn excitedly ran to the kitchen, Despereaux reached inside his pocket to make sure the drug was still safely lying in there.


	7. Chapter 7

Gus looked into Shawn’s apartment through the huge window that said “Mee Mee’s Fluff and Fold.” It was pitch black inside. “Shawn? You in there?” Gus knocked on the window.

Gus was at his own home when Lassiter called him and not-so-nicely asked him to check on Shawn.

“Buddy, I’m coming in,” He yelled through the door and took out his key. “You need to get decent in the next five seconds if you’re not!”

He switched on the lamp beside the door. But there was no one in here. Not in the living room…Not in the kitchen…Not in the bathroom…That’s when he saw the bedroom door was ajar. “Shawn?” He walked in with both his hands covering his eyes. When there was no voice answering him, He peeked through his fingers.

Shawn was cozily lying in bed with a comforter on him.

“Shawn!” Gus was a little peeved and shouted impatiently, “Shawn! It’s 8:30 and you’re already sleeping?!”

But his friend didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t even wake up to make a sound.

“Shawn!” Gus walked closer and called out again. That was when he came to the realization that his friend wasn’t just sleeping. His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Shawn…” Gus reached out a trembling hand to Shawn’s neck to check for a pulse. After feeling around for a few seconds, he easily found one. “Oh, thank god!” He really needed to tell Shawn about this when he woke up.

The problem was Shawn wasn’t waking up. Not a faint stir was seen. Gus was reaching for his phone to call for an ambulance when he decided to try something he learned from the movies.

He dumped a bucket of cold water on Shawn’s head.

Shawn woke up to his dismay, gasping for air. Cold water dripped down his hair and soaked his light blue button-down pajama tops and bed sheet. “What the hell, Gus?!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“And a bucket of water is the answer to immortality?!” Shawn stood up quickly and stormed to the bathroom. He fetched a clean towel to dry his hair. “You could’ve just yelled my name!”

“I did! You didn’t even move.”

Shawn stepped outside of the bathroom, eyes dashing to every corner. “Where’s Pierre?”

“I don’t know. Lassiter said he was with you earlier. That’s why he asked me to come and check if he was still with you,” Gus said. “Apparently not.”

Shawn’s eyes landed on the two pineapple smoothies. “Gus. We need to go. Now!”

“Go where?”

“The museum.” Shawn was already heading for the door.

“You think he’s going to steal the painting, don’t you?”

“He drugged me, Gus! My head is feeling like it’s made of lead and cotton at the same time,” Shawn said, feeling a thud in his heart. “For better or for worse, I need to try and stop him.”

* * *

At 8:45, Lassiter saw the duo running into the front door of the museum. Gus was chasing his friend from behind.

“What the heck?!” He was out of his car running after them in no time.

“Sir! No running, please!” The receptionist hissed, but she was ignored by all three of them.

Lassiter finally found Gus in one of the corridors. But he was alone. “Guster, where is he?”

“He’s unusually ninja-like in situations like this,” Gus said, still panting.

“I told you to check on him and Despereaux. Not to bring him here to play hide-and-seek!” Lassiter accused.

“Despereaux wasn’t there. He sneaked out after drugging Shawn.”

“He drugged him?!” Lassiter didn’t know it was acid reflux or a perpetual fire was lit in his chest.

“And he put pajamas on him and tucked him into bed.” Gus thought offering this additional information would calm the detective in front of him. But somehow it only made it worse.

“We have to find him now.” As soon as Lassiter said this, the audio broadcast announced there were only ten minutes left till the closing time.

That was easier said than done. In the next ten minutes, they checked every corner, but Shawn was nowhere to be seen.

“Sir, you need to leave. The museum is closing.” A guard came up to them. They were the only two visitors left in the museum right now.

“Our friend came with us earlier. He’s still in here somewhere,” Gus said.

“I’m sure he’s left. Our security team does a canvas every night before we close the door. They just finished.”

Lassiter and Gus unwillingly left after another guard approached them as well.

“What do we do now?” Gus asked, watching the front door close.

“Maybe he’s out. He can easily be spotted in that pajama. I’ll call him.” Lassiter reached for his phone.

“He didn’t bring it. He said you tracked his phone when we came here.”

“Damn it!” Lassiter growled. This wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. Nothing would turn out to be easy when Spencer was involved. Not with his usual cases. Not now. “You drive back to his place to see if he’s back. I’ll wait here. Just like days after days after days after days!”

* * *

Shawn was lying inside a spacious crate wearing his wet pajamas. Nothing except for a generous amount of newspaper balls was inside. He was biding his time. The painting in the next room would be taken down at 4 a.m. next morning for the transfer—he did his research on Gus’s phone on the way here. So he only needed to stay alert and listen carefully for any movement outside. He was confident that Despereaux would have disabled the camera or put it into a loop by the time he got inside.

But the thing was, he didn’t know when Despereaux would make his grand entrance. The drug in his system highly disagreed with his plan. He never felt sleepier in his whole life. And the newspaper balls were as soft as his bed. He was in and out of sleep for the next few hours. But He never fully allowed himself to succumb to his eyelids and drift away too far.

Around 2 a.m., He awakened to a cogwheel sound. He opened the crate lid and snuck out, mentally celebrating the fact that the hinges were well oiled.

The room wasn’t completely dark. A beam of moonlight through a square hole from the ceiling compelled the descending man in a black leather jacket to be on a virtual stage.

Despereaux landed quietly on the ground like a cat sneaking up on its food and detached the rope to let it hang in the air.

“Please stop.”

Despereaux turned around and aimed a gun forward. “Shawn.” He immediately shoved it back to the waistband when he realized who was standing behind him.

Shawn was by his side in a flash. “Don’t do it, Pierre. You promised.”

Despereaux didn’t answer. Instead, he started cautiously lifting _The Sonata_ away from the wall.

“I thought we had something! You need to stop it, right now!” The room even echoed Shawn’s angry whisper.

Despereaux took out a large blanket, ready to wrap it up.

Shawn grabbed the frame but Despereaux pulled it back and pushed him backward.

“I need to do this. I’ll explain later,” Despereaux said.

“When you’re in jail?! You don’t _need_ to do anything! The only thing you needed to do was to stay and play ‘Mario’ with me!”

“Lower your voice.”

Shawn reached for the painting again and pulled, but using too much strength, he stumbled and toppled over.

The painting slipped out of his hand, wooden frame dancing on the marble floor and creating a real sonata with it, with the help of a longstanding echo. Before Shawn could touch it again, Despereaux picked it up.

He took long strides back to where he was. “What have you done…”

The front door lock made a clicking sound. Someone was trying to come inside.

Shawn, who was now standing, yelped when Despereaux tried to strap him to a flying harness to his middle, “What are you doing?!”

“You can’t be seen here, Shawn.”

“No. I’m not leaving until you put that thing down.” He shoved away Despereaux’s hands.

The front door squeaked open slowly.

Despereaux stepped back and put away the blanket. He attached the rope hanging from the ceiling to his own waist, grabbing the painting tightly.

“They won’t be able to keep you for long if you don’t say anything,” Despereaux said resignedly. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for this.”

“Don’t! Come back!” Shawn cried out while witnessing with his own eyes that the man he loved ascended to the ceiling and then covered the square hole, leaving the museum in pitch darkness, leaving him behind.

The terribly familiar hurried footsteps became louder and louder behind him. Shawn knew it by heart after hearing them for years. He dared not to turn around.


	8. Chapter 8

Two minutes ago, outside of the museum, Gus was sleeping in his Blueberry. He and Lassiter knew for certain that Shawn was still inside. The latter had his elf-life ear glued to the front door for hours. Neck sore, face cold, he didn’t budge for an inch.

“Did you hear that?” Lassiter said suddenly to the bored night security guard nearby.

“No I didn’t hear a thing. Not hours ago, not now.” He didn’t recall meeting any man more insistent in his life.

“Here it is again! Something about ‘Mario’?” Lassiter wasn’t so sure now.

“Yeah, right. A video gamer resides in there every night.”

The sarcastic tone didn’t slip Lassiter’s notice. But in the next few seconds, a loud and long-lasting thud vibrated in both man’s ears.

“What the hell was that?!” The guard exclaimed.

“The sound of your ass getting fired! Open the door now!”

The guard hastily stumbled forward and inserted the key.

“Now call the police,” Lassiter ordered before stepping inside. His eyes landed on the sleeping beauty in the Blueberry, and added, “Don’t let anyone come inside before the police arrive.”

He moved to where the treasure was without any detour.

* * *

What Lassiter witnessed was Shawn standing beside the now empty wall space, still and alone.

“Spencer.”

Shawn didn’t turn around.

“He left you here, didn’t he?” Lassiter knew the answer. He went for Despereaux but got the worst substitute instead. He couldn’t shake away the twisted feeling growing in his heart. Any other choices became invisible at this point.

Hands rubbing his one-day-old stubble, he walked to the young man still in pajamas who looked defeated with his hunched back. “Shawn Spencer, you’re under arrest for the suspicion of the theft of _The Sonata_.” He took out his handcuffs. But the metal sound awoke Shawn from his stupor.

Shawn turned swiftly and took a step back. “Lassie…This is not what you think it is.”

It was the first time in his career that Lassiter didn’t even feel the slightest urge to discharge his beloved weapon while making an arrest. Maybe Sheriff Hank was the first time…But O’Hara was the one that had to actually do the job. He always thought he would be happy to do so when it was the psychic’s turn.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court.”

“Lassie—”

But Lassiter still cuffed him from behind.

Shawn’s flight or fight instinct surged to his head. He jerked away from Lassiter’s hands on his upper arms. He was somewhat surprised by how easy it was.

“Calm down, Shawn,” Lassiter said. His voice was steady but his mind didn’t know how to remain calm itself. “Just go to the station and tell us what you saw.”

“I—I can’t…”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

The words were stuck in his throat. There were a thousand things he wanted to tell Lassiter—how he felt utter betrayal because of Pierre, how he wished none of this had happened, how he wanted Lassie to take him into his arms instead of putting him in cuffs…With the soreness his nose felt, Shawn knew if he let out any sound, tears would make a show as well. So he remained silent and still.

Lassiter grabbed Shawn’s elbow. Lowering his head, he said, “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Even with the darkness, he could still see tears glistening in his eyes. “Shawn…” Lassiter stopped. Words meant for comfort were at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to make any promises.

He led Shawn out to his car while reciting the rest of the Miranda rights, leaving the empty and lonely room behind.

* * *

Shawn settled in the backseat.

“Why is your pajama wet?” Lassiter asked while standing outside of the car. He opened his trunk and retrieved a duffle bag. “Here. Put this on.” He tossed a navy colored hoodie onto Shawn’s lap through the window. Shawn looked down and a small SBPD logo smiled at him. _Is it schadenfreude?_

Shawn turned slightly to show Lassiter the handcuffs.

“Oh, right.” Lassiter got into the backseat beside Shawn and used his key to open the handcuffs. They looked at each other in silence. Seconds past, no one said anything.

Shawn raised his eyebrows.

“Right!” Lassiter realized he wasn’t going to change his clothes with the arresting officer staring at him inches away. So he got out and headed for the driver’s seat, making sure he took his time. By the time he sat down, Shawn was already in his hoodie. Lassiter took more than necessary glances using the rearview mirror.

“What?” Shawn caught him doing so. “Can’t take your eyes off me? You’re not one of those men who get turned on by their partner wearing their oversized clothes, right? It’s not even oversized on me.”

“I was just making sure you didn’t ruin it in a matter of seconds like you do all the time.” But the truth was Lassiter was exactly the kind of person Shawn referred to. He’d rather go bird-watching with Henry than admitting that. He handed Shawn the handcuffs.

“No. Thanks.”

“I’m not asking. This is protocol.”

“No one will see it. Relax.” Shawn tried.

“Don’t make me go back there and slap this on you again! This time maybe I’ll enjoy slamming you on the car hood.”

* * *

Several police cars arrived. The blinding blue and red light finally pushed Gus out of his sweet dream. But what he saw next made him a roaring lion in a snap—Shawn was sitting in Lassiter’s car in handcuffs.

Gus pounded on the car window nonstop. “Shawn! Shawn! What happened?!” He tried to pull open the door, but Lassiter already turned on the child safety locks. When he noticed that his friend was avoiding eye contact on purpose, he glared and snapped at Lassiter, “What did you do?! Have you gone insane?! This is Shawn! Not Despereaux!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Lassiter yelled back, hitting the steering wheel hard with his hands. Shawn gave a start when the car jerked.

Gus took a few deep breaths to suppress his anger. “I’m coming with you. Open the door.”

“No, you’re not. I can’t have you sit in here. Take your own car. Meet us at the station,” Lassiter ordered.

Gus looked at Shawn cautiously and saw he nodded. So he went for his car, praying his friend hadn’t done and wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to land himself in jail.

After he exchanged a few words with an officer in uniforms, Lassiter drove away, with Shawn sitting silently in his backseat.

* * *

The adrenaline rush faded away quickly. Sitting in Lassiter’s comfortable car seat and with the smooth car ride in the empty street at this hour, despite his awkward position, both physically and metaphorically, Shawn nodded off to sleep.

When Lassiter saw Shawn closed his eyes and tilted his head backward, he blurted out the words without thinking, “You okay back there?”

“What…Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Unease crept into Lassiter’s mind. “Gus said he drugged you.”

“I think it’s just some drug that—” Shawn was instantly wide awake. If he decided he wasn’t going to admit anything, he had to shut up now. “Um…He was wrong. Gus was wrong.”

Lassiter saw the sudden change of Shawn’s demeanor and sighed. “I wasn’t interrogating you. I was—” _Being concerned_ , he added silently in his head. “Why is your pajama wet?”

“Gus thought cold water could be his great pharmaceutical invention. He tried to gift me the ability to live long and prosper.” Shawn tugged his hand, trying to make a Vulcan salute. But the handcuffs reminded him he couldn’t.

Lassiter knew it was an attempt at a joke. But Shawn wasn’t as nearly as cheerful as in his normal days. Then again, nothing was normal with this Despereaux around. He glanced at Shawn, who drifted away again, and cursed the heartless dirtbag in his mind using the ugliest words he knew.

* * *

Chief slammed the phone down forcefully, making the windows around her office shudder.

“What did they say?” Juliet asked cautiously, not wanting to be the next target of the woman’s anger.

“Well, Mr. Rank, the owner of the painting and Ms. Newman, the museum curator both insist that nothing has been stolen. Not even a cheap crate. They told me that _The Sonata_ was transferred out of the country earlier then they’d scheduled.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Of course I know that’s not what happened,” Chief said resignedly. “The curator even apologized for closing the museum before Shawn got a chance to get out. There is not much we can do about it. At least not a warrant to search Shawn’s place and the Psych office right now.” She bit her lips, pondering what to do next. But an anxious and demanding male voice ran through the otherwise quite SBPD bullpen.

“Karen!” Henry yelled when he was still twenty feet away from the chief’s office. He rushed in. “Did Carlton just arrest my son?!”

“Henry. It’s three in the morning. I need you to calm down,” Chief said warningly.

“How did you know this quick?” Juliet asked.

“Gus called me.” He looked at the young man sitting on the bench outside of the office.

“He really shouldn’t…” Chief didn’t have time to deal with an angry father at this moment.

“He damn well should! It’s that Despereaux guy. I’m sure Shawn had nothing to do with this. Stealing a two-hundred-year-old painting? The kid doesn’t have that in him.”

“We know this, Henry. The owner isn’t even claiming it’s stolen. We _will_ release him, but we have to ask some questions first. If he didn’t do anything wrong, at least he can tell us who did.”

Henry glared at her. But he couldn’t deny the fact he wanted to know what happened as well. So he nodded.

“Thank you,” Chief said. “It’s for his own good.”

* * *

“This is a disaster,” Juliet said, looking into the interrogation room through the one-way mirror.

It was three in the morning, and Shawn was sitting in there alone in an SBPD hoodie, with his head buried in two hands. He was asking himself if he had known all along that Despereaux would pull something like this. And perhaps he just wasn’t willing or ready to actually open his eyes to see that.

“And why is he wearing our department hoodie with pajama pants?” Juliet asked curiously.

“Yes. That’s the most important question of this morning. Way to go, O’Hara.”

“Go drink some coffee, Carlton. You’re not helping anyone with that stabbing sarcasm.” Juliet gave Lassiter a stern look. “I’ll go question him first.” She stepped into the interrogation room.

Lassiter stuck his head outside and asked someone to bring him two cups of coffee. There was no way in hell for him to miss any of this.

Juliet sat down. “Shawn,” She said in a soothing tone, “why don’t you start by telling me what happened when Despereaux went to your place last night.”

“We played some video games. ‘Mario’. Drank my handmade pineapple smoothies. Went to bed.”

“When did you find out he drugged you?”

Shawn didn’t even pause. “Pierre didn’t drug me. I was tired like the pudgy little gold miner in the game, so I went to bed early. They say video games could burn your brain cells like that. I’d say ‘Mario’ is just cool enough to have that kind of effect on some intellectuals.”

“But Gus and Carlton said—”

“They were mistaken.”

Juliet knew at that time that Shawn was choosing to stand next to the one he still loved. So she changed her tactic. “I noticed that you didn’t give him a nickname. Not like Jules, Gus, or Lassie.”

“You don’t think the name ‘Pierre Despereaux’ has enough swag?”

“I know why you’re attracted to him. Despereaux. I understand it.”

“You do?” Shawn knew he was still the target of an interrogation, but his friend’s tone was so sincere. This was the first time since he started seeing Pierre that someone had said they understood.

“Of course I do. Who doesn’t fall for a bad boy from time to time? Especially a well-looking one like him. A gentleman. Smart. Sophisticated. Romantic. Never raises his voice. Unlike the one outside.” Juliet tilted her head toward the mirror. Lassiter rolled his eyes. He knew what his partner was suggesting, to him and to Shawn. “I’m definitely _not_ trying to imply you’re a gold digger, but he’s also quite rich—”

“He doesn’t steal for money,” Shawn felt compelled to defend the not present man. “If he steals, that is,” he added.

“Then what he steals for? If he steals.”

“For the thrill. For fun. For everything that you don’t get from everyday life?”

“Even at the cost of you?” Juliet asked.

Shawn couldn’t muster an answer for her. He didn’t know how to. Because her words were exactly what had been gnawing him since he saw Despereaux disappeared from the museum ceiling.

“Shawn…People like him, they live on the clouds. They take whatever they want and then leave. They don’t get attached.”

“That’s all hypothetical after all. He didn’t steal that painting.”

Lassiter barged in the room. “Why are you still staying by his side, Spencer?!” Lassiter slapped his hand on the table.

Shawn sat up straighter, trying to act unfazed under Lassiter’s wrath.

“Would you excuse us for a second, O’Hara?” Lassiter asked.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“Please.”

Juliet reluctantly walked out, but not before Lassiter asked her not to let anyone come into the viewing room, including herself.

“You’re not gonna hit him, right?” Juliet asked, not trusting Lassiter not to do stupid things at this early hour.

Lassiter didn’t dignify it with a response. He slammed the door then.


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s just you and me now. If you’re smart, you’ll know I did this to save you some face,” Lassiter said, sitting across the table. He had reigned in his rage by the time Shawn looked into his eyes. “If you’re not saying anything, then let me say it for you—while on a date, Despereaux drugged you and took off to steal a valuable painting. He planned to sneak back into your bed and pretend nothing has happened. He somehow miraculously snatched the painting but left you behind in the museum alone to get arrested instead. Is any of what I’m saying wrong?”

“Did you learn the nutshelling skill from Gus? Sounds riveting. It would make a great episode on a cable network. But it’s not fact-based.”

“Spencer,” Lassiter growled, “If he did any of those things, why do you still think he deserves your loyalty? He could be long gone by now.”

“He. Didn’t. Steal. The. Painting.”

“We both know that’s not true. I could’ve arrested him tonight. But he dragged you into this mud. I’m sure you ran into that museum to stop him. Guess what? He doesn’t _care_ about you, doesn’t _care_ about your so-called relationship. All he wanted was that painting. You’re just his pastime.”

“Everyone except you could see that I make a good company.”

“A company he didn’t hesitate to drug and get in bed.”

“Whoa! Hold on. You’re really going there? Seriously? That’s low, even for you, Lassie.”

“I, for one, am just thinking I’m stating the obvious.”

“Don’t portray me as some damsel in distress, Lassie. In our house, this is out of date long ago. Gus and I choose to watch Disney films like _Beauty and the Beast_ and _Brave._ Very feminist characters. I suggest you do that as well, but with another adult dude to make it look more normal.”

Lassiter ignored his rambling. “Why are you doing this? It’s only been a month and you’re deep in his filthy cave.”

“I’d say his cave has bats who are way friendlier than you. Rabie shots—not needed.”

There was a knock on the door. It was Juliet. “Carlton, you need to come with me.” She gave Shawn an apologetic look. “Now.”

* * *

“What can’t wait, O’Hara? I was about to crack him,” Lassiter grumbled while walking alongside his partner.

“That’s not true. Shawn looks really determined,” Juliet said. “But this can’t wait.”

When Lassiter looked into Chief’s office, the man’s back and his blond hair which had been haunting and taunting him for a whole month came into his view. “Oh hell!” He took long strides inside, without giving anyone else in the room a single thought.

He grabbed Despereaux’s collar with both hands and slammed him hard against the door. “Tell me you’re here to turn yourself in!”

“Detective!” Chief warned.

But Lassiter didn’t let go. “You took the painting and hid it. You left him there _alone_! Why are you back, huh?!”

Despereaux answered calmly, as Lassiter chose to stay in his personal space. “Detective. Last time I checked, nothing was stolen. And I came here because I believe you have someone of mine in custody.”

“Detective,” Chief warned again, albeit not as enthusiastically.

Lassiter threw his hands down and turned around, his face still murderous.

“You’re the one who arrested him, correct?” Despereaux said after straightening his shirt.

“I didn’t have to do that if you didn’t escape!” Lassiter retorted.

“There’s no need to be so cross all the time. It won’t help anything. I’ve seen men ten times more intimidating than you. And they wanted me dead.”

“And you’re sure that is not my intention?”

“If you want me to talk, I’ll talk.”

“Well.” Lassiter gestured the room. “Talk away!”

“Not here. I want to talk with you.” Despereaux gave him a faint smile. “Just you.”

Lassiter looked at Chief and saw her nodded. He was more than happy to get Despereaux alone and grill him. Without saying another word, he walked out with Despereaux trailing behind.

“I thought he would be less civil than this,” Juliet said when only Chief and she were left in the office.

“He was an art thief. I don’t actually think he would act like a thug.”

“No. Not Despereaux. I mean Carlton.”

Chief shot her a bemused look.

Juliet asked, “Where is Henry?”

“I sent him and Mr. Guster back home to get some sleep. I told them I’ll call as soon as I release Mr. Spencer.”

“Thank god Henry didn’t see Despereaux…”

* * *

Lassiter headed for the other interrogation room that didn’t contain a psychic. But Despereaux stopped him, offering a suggestion of his own, “There’s an empty room next door. How about we chat in there?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re coming with me to the interrogation room.”

“I don’t think I’m legally bound to do anything.”

In his mind, Lassiter was strangling the man in front of him and watching his veins popping open. He took a deep breath and said, “Conference room it is.”

After they both sat down, Lassiter took out his notepad and asked right away, “Where were you this morning at 2 a.m.?”

“What’s your intention with Shawn?” Despereaux leaned back in his chair, asking a question of his own.

Lassiter’s lips tightened into a thin line. He closed his eyes to resort to his personal relaxing tactic—counting sheep which looked like scumbags. “If you answer all my questions correctly, I’ll release him as soon as I can.”

“I know you won’t keep him for long already. After all, nothing was stolen. I mean _your_ interest in Shawn. Not as a detective. But as a person. As yourself.”

“Answer my questions or get the hell out of here before I snap all your fingers.” Lassiter couldn’t believe Despereaux, the one who drugged his own boyfriend, was now asking him his intention.

“Do you want to court him? Or do you just intend to sleep with him?”

“I will do neither of those things.”

“You put spyware in his phone and followed us to almost all of our dates,” Despereaux stated the fact.

Lassiter thought he was being discrete, about the spyware at least, If not the stakeouts. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“So you insist on saying.”

“And why do you care anymore? It’s not like you two can act like nothing happened after this.”

“Then you must have misjudged the bond between me and Shawn.”

“He’s the one who misjudged you.”

Despereaux just sat there, eyes boring into the detective. “Do you want to know why I like him?”

“No, I don’t.”

“He’s simple.”

“You mean he’s easy.”

“No, detective. I mean he’s simple. I’m not a superficial man, although I’m sure you’d like to see me as one.” Despereaux continued, “My life is as intricate as an enigma. It always has been. Turbulent, one might say. So it’s not that hard to understand I can be attracted to a simpler time and person. Shawn wants one thing and that is freedom. We have that in common. But his moral compass has determined the simplicity of his life, unlike mine. He also brings joy one can only encounter for a limited amount of times.”

Lassiter wasn’t thinking about the theft anymore. “You forgot about the lying part. You have that in common too. He lied about being a psychic for years.”

Despereaux just smiled at that. “Shawn has a child-like heart. That’s quite adorable. And he’s easy to trust as well. So it’s easy for me to steal his heart.”

Ears buzzing as if a machine was drilling for oil inside, Lassiter said coldly, “He’s narcissistic.” He intended to aim for Despereaux, but out of habit, it landed on Shawn.

“Oh, Carlton.” Despereaux let out a small laugh. “We’re all narcissists underneath. He’s just brave enough to show it.”

Lassiter stood up, deciding to end this nonsense as soon as possible since this was getting nowhere near what he’d hoped.

“You want to tame him. I want to set him free,” Despereaux said when Lassiter turned his back to him. “He’s the wind beneath my wings and vice versa. I’ve traveled to a lot of places. A good amount of them trumps this little town. I’ve stayed in Santa Barbara for Shawn because we both have unfinished business here. We’ll leave someday soon.”

Lassiter slammed the door and left.

* * *

Shawn buried his head in his elbows. The quietness compressed him rather than gave him a chance to clear his head. He never thrived in stillness. He’d known that even before his parents took him to see a child psychologist.

He rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t as sleepy as he was in Lassiter’s car. But he was not out of his stupor yet. Mainly because his mind kept replaying every single time Despereaux made a promise and what went down in the museum.

He sucked in a deep breath. A scent roaming into his nose and then his body steadied his nerves with immense power. It was familiar though. Like he had known it for quite some time but never seriously registered its presence. He looked around and saw no one and nothing in particular was inside the room with him. Then he realized the scent was coming from himself.

Lassie’s SBPD hoodie. A smile tugged at his lips and Shawn let out a small breath through his nose. He would’ve recognized it sooner if he were a super-smeller like Gus. _Gus likes Pierre’s perfume_ , Shawn thought, and he bet Gus would like this as well. But this didn’t smell like any perfume. It was so mild he nearly missed it. Maybe pine-scented laundry detergent? He needed Gus to figure that out.

Lassiter opened the door, more irritated than the last time Shawn saw him. Shawn mentally prepared himself, ready to suppress any flinches if Lassiter decided to throw a fireball at him.

He sat down with a notepad in hand. Not looking up, he asked, “Ready to talk?”

“What happened out there?”

Lassiter shook his head and smiled resignedly. Apparently everyone thought it would be a great idea to answer his question with a question today.

“Lassie, you know I won’t say a thing. So how about we call this off? It’s safe to say we all miss our bed tremendously at this point.”

“Despereaux was outside,” Lassiter blurted out.

Shawn’s mouth hung open in the air, and Lassiter saw him swallow his surprise.

For a few seconds, no one said anything. Lassiter was taken aback by Shawn’s reaction. He’d believed that Shawn’s words and unsaid words spoke volumes for his trust in Despereaux. So he found himself an opening. “He’s here to turn himself in.”

“What? Why—” It didn’t take long for Shawn to get his head around the fact he was being manipulated by the detective. “Nice one, Lassie. You almost got me. Almost. And I’ll see to it in the future that you hone in on your skill.”

“I’m not lying to you. O’Hara called me out to talk to him.”

The sincerity in Lassiter’s eyes didn’t slip Shawn’s attention. “So he’s really here…” Shawn buried his head in his arms like before.

“What do you want to tell me now?”

“Nothing.”

“Shawn, he’s not worth it!” Lassiter slapped on the table again.

“Then who’s worth it?!” Shawn snarled back, leaning across the table. “You?!”

Heavy and rapid heart-pounding sounds filled the tiny room. Two hearts. Yet unable to beat in sync.

Both of them went back to the first day they met. In the same interrogation room. Same detective. Same suspect. Except there were five years in between. Five happy but regrettable years.

Shawn stood up slowly. “You know…I liked you. A lot. I hardly ever want something so badly in my life. Maybe except for the black and white twin bunnies twenty years ago, symbolizing the friendship between Gus and me. I didn’t get them. Dad said he didn’t want to take care of them…God! I wish you could’ve seen it and _said_ something…I gave up on you.”

Shawn pointed a finger at the now motionless detective, only sadness pouring out of his hazel eyes. He continued, “I gave up on you because there was no us. Pierre is different. He’s worn his heart on his sleeves for me since day one. He accepts me for who I am. So Detective,” Shawn addressed him finally, “yes, I will keep insisting that he’s worth a lot and he didn’t steal a thing.”

Lassiter sat the small chair with his mind wiped blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Bizarre Love Triangle,” Marianna Leporace  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/3kjcm6Iq92jS1FPgY3s9Gi)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Marianna-leporace-bizarre-love-triangle-lyrics)


	10. Chapter 10

“Pierre…” Around six in the morning, Shawn walked out of the interrogation room and saw Pierre Despereaux undeniably standing in the bullpen. After Lassiter, Juliet went in to question him again but to no avail.

Despereaux rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah…Yeah. I’m fine. What are you doing here?” Shawn furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed by Despereaux’s presence. To be frank, a part of him believed he would never see him again.

“To take you home.”

“Home. Wow, I didn’t know that’s a valid concept for you.”

Despereaux said nothing. He looked Shawn over. A little disheveled. Not wearing a whole pair of pajamas like he was in the museum. But overall good. “I’ll explain everything. Let’s get out of here first.” He saw from the corner of his eyes that Lassiter was pretending to focus on his paperwork. He waved an arm, gesturing Shawn to follow him outside.

Against their master’s mind, Shawn’s feet set in motion to follow Despereaux on their own accord.

“Mr. Spencer. Shawn,” Chief said, standing in the doorway of her office, “If you can just wait for a few minutes. I’ve contacted Gus and your dad.”

Juliet walked toward them. “Yeah, Shawn. They’ll be here soon. Just wait for them to take you to your place. Or I can drive you myself.” Neither of them wanted Shawn to follow Despereaux after everything that had happened.

Shawn shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “With all due respect, Chief and Jules, I can take care of myself. And my dad isn’t exactly who I dream of seeing right now. The last time I got arrested, he got retired not long after. So Chief, if you want him to keep his job here, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have him meet me now. At least not in a year.”

Shawn turned and headed for the exit. “Night!” He waved at them. “Or morning? It’s really hard to tell when you’re inside for too long. Well, I’ll just say good morning. _And in case I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night._ ”

* * *

The sun had only shown its forehead. But the light blue sky gave the two people outside of the SBPD enough dim light to see the road. Shawn ran toward Despereaux’s car.

“Shawn.” Despereaux didn’t try to catch up with him. Instead, he strolled to the driver’s side. Shawn’s breaths were still ragged when he settled into his seat.

“Just take me to my place.” Shawn stared ahead, ignoring Despereaux’s gaze.

As Shawn had wished, not a word was exchanged between them on their way to Shawn’s apartment.

Before Despereaux could properly park the car, Shawn was out of the door, rushing toward his home. He’d expected the anger from Shawn. Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart inside the living room, Despereaux crossed his arms in front of his chest. He tapped his right foot on the floor silently and waited for Shawn to come out of the bedroom.

After Shawn took off the hoodie he was wearing, he took a sniff against his better judgment. A mix of Lassiter’s pine-scented laundry detergent and his own honey shower gel. He threw it on the bed, not willing to dig deeper why he wanted to sniff it for the rest of his day. He put on another pair of pajamas.

“Ah, Shawn, there you are. I was starting wondering whether you went into the world of Narnia,” Despereaux said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, hiding in the closet isn’t my style. I don’t even do that when I play hide-and-seek. Too predictable.”

Despereaux waited for Shawn to settle in on the couch and threw a cushion on his laps, then he sat down beside him. “I’d like to offer my whole explanation of the event Last night.”

Shawn’s eyes lingered on the two pineapple smoothies sitting on the counter. One empty. One half-glass full. “You didn’t even finish yours.”

“I wasn’t paying full attention to mine. But I do like it,” Despereaux said. “That would be the first thing I need to apologize, Shawn. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You mean you didn’t have a choice but to drug me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you did. You could sing me some lullabies, have sex with me till I was too spent, knock me out with—”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this. That’s the reason I left you in the dark in the first place.”

“In the first place _and_ the last place…” Shawn crossed his own arms and stared at the ground.

“I left you in the museum because I had to make a decision to keep both of us out of jail and I had to make it quick.” Despereaux sat down beside him and took his hand. “I will never do that in our future.”

“Is that a promise again? ’Cause I’ve seen how it ended.”

“I can’t force you to trust me. But Shawn, you do know I love you.” When Shawn refused to meet his eyes, Despereaux palmed his jaw and turned his head for him. “Shawn, look at me. Last night will never happen again. That would be the last time I steal anything. Let me prove it to you in our days forward.”

Shawn fought hard not to allow his tears to fall. “It’s always a game for you and me. You commit those crimes and I catch you. It’s been that way since the first time we met on that skiing hill in Canada.” Shawn, now determined, looked Despereaux into the eyes and told him, “I don’t want you to put the answers on a plate for me. I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Shawn—”

“No, It’s okay. I won’t stay mad forever. You don’t have to worry about me breaking up with you or anything. But that'll be a totally legit thing for me to do.”

“Normally I would be happy to offer you a challenge. But this is not the time for—”

“This is. It can be,” Shawn said. “Go. I’m tired. I don’t even want to know what on earth you put in my drink.”

Shawn went back to bed. Seconds after his head hit the pillow, he passed out.

* * *

Lassiter was lying in his bed in his bathrobe, eyes fixed on a mold spot on the bedroom ceiling. After Shawn and Despereaux took off from the station, he asked the chief if he could have the day off. He told her he was too drained because he didn’t sleep. That was a factor. But not the main contributing one. He wouldn’t take time off if an earthquake hit California that day. 

Shawn’s words echoed in the room, especially his words about liking him. His heart decided to feel high as a kite, yet his head dived deep into a chasm. _Spencer was at a vulnerable state_ , his thought pointed out. His words couldn’t be trusted. It didn’t count.

Lassiter was most definitely brooding. He sighed because he knew it as well. Gradually in his mind, he reached common ground with himself by admitting that he was happy to hear Shawn say he liked him, and by acknowledging the fact there was nothing he could do at the same time. There would be no doubt more awkwardness around work. Only to him though. Shawn didn’t have the gene to feel embarrassed by anything.

 _So what_ if he liked Shawn as well? Shawn got over him and went with a douchebag. He should’ve buried his feelings better than the childish one. After all, he was a grown-ass man, not a hormonal high schooler.

He would go to Shawn’s place later and talk to him about what he said during the interrogation. Not to talk about feelings. Not in a million years. He wanted to hear Shawn say he was just acting out and none of that counted in the real world. He would still have to see the fake psychic at work, that he couldn’t change.

_Sleep now. Talk later._

Lassiter tossed and turned. Sleep didn’t come easily. He thought, he’d really like some of that drug…Despereaux was…in possession of…

…

_“I’m off to work!” Lassiter put on his coat in his doorway._

_“Be safe. And remember to bring home the cake we ordered.” Shawn walked out of their bedroom,_ _dressed in his light blue pajama pants and Lassiter’s SBPD hoodie._

 _“I will,” Lassiter said. He gestured Shawn to come closer. “Please don’t bring out your easy-bake_ _oven again. Last time I ate the food you made by that thing, I had diarrhea for three days straight.”_

_“You mean the pineapple upside-down cake? You told me it was like made from heaven!”_

_“It is—from a heaven of bacteria.” Lassiter saw Shawn pouted. “Oh come on, Shawn. I was joking._ _It was as delicious as hell. It was worth a month of diarrhea. But not again. You don’t want me to ruin our anniversary night by me cheating on you with the toilet.”_

 _“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Shawn tiptoed and kissed him on the lips. “Gus called me from the_ _office. He said our client came early and was crying again. He told me to hurry.”_

_Lassiter hugged him, rocking side to side. “So you’re not in a hurry at all.”_

_Shawn chuckled loudly. “Not at all. Gus can cry with her. It’s good for him.”_

_“Unfortunately, I am. I have a punctual record no one in the SBPD has ever broken.”_

_“There is something called the punctual record?”_

_“Not exactly…I just checked the log last week when I got bored.”_

_“Oh, so sexy.” Shawn gave him a naughty smile, wiggling his eyebrows up and down._

_Lassiter rolled his eyes, but he smiled back. “You’ll know what that word really means when I get_ _back.”_

_“Then you need to go now. Come back early.” Shawn pushed him out of the door. “Bye honey.”_

_“Bye.”_

_Work was a disaster. Lassiter had to arrest someone who looked eerily like Shawn. When he finished everything, it was already ten in the evening. Lassiter rushed home._

_When he walked through the door, he saw Shawn sitting at their kitchen table alone, waiting. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Lassiter kissed Shawn on the forehead and sat down across the table. He had a feeling he forgot about something._

_“Did you forget it?”_

_Lassiter couldn’t think straight. He didn’t answer._

_“Our anniversary cake.”_

_“Oh god…” Lassiter bowed down his head. How could he forget something so important? “I promised I’d go pick it up after work…Shawn—”_

_“No, it’s okay. I knew you’d forget. So I went to the store for us. See?” Shawn picked up a cake from the floor and put it on the_ _table._

_Lassiter glanced at the cake. There was nothing on it. No words. Not even buttercream flowers._

_“Shawn…I—I don’t even remember what kind of anniversary we’re celebrating…”_

_“Carlton Lassiter.” Shawn put his hand on the back of Lassiter’s hand and gently drew circles on it with_ _his thumb. “I’ll remember for the both of us.”_

_…_

Lassiter woke up to the sound of his alarm clock. The dream instantly slipped away like sands flowing through a sieve. Before he sat up, he noticed there was a faint smile on his face and water at the corner of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Almost Lover,” A Fine Frenzy  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/71ehTADpxs85ULrZgSEKCy)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/A-fine-frenzy-almost-lover-lyrics)


	11. Chapter 11

“He lives here?!” Gus pointed at the house where Shawn had brought him.

“Gus, don’t be the feather that sticks out of a down jacket,” Shawn said. “Yes, he lives here. And we’re going in.”

“He invited you here? Why did you bring me?”

“He didn’t invite me per se. We’re here to investigate.”

“You’re breaking and entering?! Again?!”

“Gus, he’s my boyfriend. I don’t think the law says so.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure if you don’t have a key and aren’t invited, you are definitely breaking and entering. Boyfriend or not. And why is he still your boyfriend after what happened last night? He got you arrested.”

Shawn walked straight to the front door and took out a key from his pocket.

“You have a key? How?” Gus cocked his head to the side. “Are you already at that stage of a relationship to have the key to each other’s home?”

“No. We don’t do that kind of monumental things normal couples do.” They walked in and closed the door behind them.

Gus looked around the interior of the house which was the opposite of his imagination and said, “So you do know you’re not normal.”

“I hooked it from his jacket one day and got a copy.” Shawn waved the key in front of Gus’s proudly.

“Oh god. You’re following down his path.”

“For your information, it’s my dad who taught me how to use my fingers as chopsticks to steal. Not Pierre.”

“Why did your dad—Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Shawn started looking through drawers after drawers.

Gus asked, standing beside a kneeling Shawn, “So…He won’t explain it to you? And you came here to investigate by yourself?”

“No. He offered to explain this morning. I firmly and politely declined.”

“Why?”

“I should’ve figured it out beforehand. I slept for too long to let him take the lead. That was my dad’s favorite bedtime story for me. I can’t believe I’m gonna say it—Gus, I am the hare.”

Gus dragged Shawn off the ground. “Shawn! That’s not how a relationship works! What he did was wrong. He should’ve told you. Not that you should’ve figured it out.”

“Potato Potahto.”

Gus sighed. “What are we looking for anyway?”

“Since when did we have that kind of an answer before entering someone’s place? I’ll know when I see it.”

Shawn looked through a stack of books. Leafing through the pages, he tried to find some hidden compartment but none was found. Then he spotted something. “Hello! What is a Bible doing here…”

“Isn’t that the most common book you can find in American households?”

“Gus, this is Pierre we’re talking about. He’s not religious.”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope. Never has been. He told me that when he was explaining some poem— _Dover Beach_. I understand very little. It’s definitely his fault though, he didn’t explain it like I’m a five-year-old.” Shawn didn’t find any compartment in this book as well. Dusted and old as the book was, the rigid spine told Shawn it hadn’t been opened many times. As he was putting it back, something slipped to the floor. Shawn picked it up. It was a photo taken by an instant camera. In it, a young man with blond hair was standing next to a middle-aged woman, both smiling at the camera.

Gus walked closer to Shawn.

“Pierre must be no more than twenty in this.” Shawn grinned. He’d never imagined what Despereaux was like when he was younger.

But Gus’s attention was on the other person. “Shawn, I think I know that woman.”

“From where?”

“I don’ know.” Gus started pacing. He scratched his head hard as if peeling a layer of skin off would enlighten him somehow. He stopped suddenly. “Shawn! That’s Margaret Atwood!”

“Who?”

“Tsk! Did you not read _The Handmaid’s Tale_ I bought you?”

“Gus, it’s too dark! I couldn’t even finish the second page. And after all these years, shame on you to give me a book with words as a gift. You know the chance for me to finish it is as good as me skipping our snack time!”

Gus shot him a disapproving look. Then he realized where he saw a “Margaret Atwood” recently. “Dude, that’s the museum curator Ms. Newman! God, she even looked like Margaret Atwood when she was younger.”

“They know each other. That’s why she insisted nothing was stolen!” Shawn jumped high in the air.

“You don’t think she’s his mother, do you?”

“What? Wow. Now you’ve said it…She could be. That’ll make things a lot more complicated.”

“How? It would certainly explain a lot—a prodigal son returned and went rogue again a month later.”

“Because I’m going to meet this said mother now.”

* * *

Shawn and Gus walked up the stairs leading to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. A large man in a suit walking downstairs knocked Shawn from the side. He almost lost balance. “Excuse you. Texting while walking is just as bad as watching TV while having sex. You always hurt someone else and yourself.”

The man shot him a glare and left hurriedly. But he took a considerable amount of time to flip him the bird.

“Shawn! He’s the owner of the painting—Mr. Rank.”

“No wonder he hates me so much.”

“Don’t joke about this. He really looked pissed.”

“But why would he say nothing was stolen…” Shawn put away what he registered from the man’s texts to the back of his mind. He didn’t have enough clue to piece everything together.

“How may I help you, gentlemen?” Ms. Newman asked, sitting in her office chair. “Please, sit down.”

“I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. This is my partner slash my personal dream explainer, Freud.”

Gus tilted his head and whispered. “His full name was Sigmund Freud.”

“Sorry. My bad. Seagull Freud. I’m sure you’ve heard about me. I’m the one who accidentally got locked inside your museum last night.” Shawn noted the same kind of Bible he saw in Despereaux’s house earlier seating on the center of her shelf.

“My sincere apologies, Mr. Spencer. I’ll guarantee you such a thing won’t happen again.”

“Thank you. It was not as fun as the real _Night at the Museum_ ,” Shawn said.

Gus didn’t want to waste any time. “We’re here to ask some questions.” He elbowed Shawn.

“Um, do you know someone named Pierre Despereaux?” Shawn asked.

“Yes. The police said he was the suspect for stealing one of our paintings. But they were mistaken. Nothing was stolen. Not last night. Not ever.” Ms. Newman shrugged.

“You don’t know him from somewhere else?”

Shawn noticed the slight hesitation from the woman. But Ms. Newman denied it nonetheless.

“Then how do you explain this?” Shawn passed her the photo.

Ms. Newman beamed when she saw what was in the photo and leaned back in her chair. She looked Shawn up and down and finally said, “He warned me you would come here.”

“He, as in Pierre Despereaux?”

“Yes.”

Gus asked right away, “Are you his mother?”

“No.” She laughed at that question. “He asked me to trust you guys, so I’ll be honest with you—I’m his mentor.”

“An art mentor?” Gus was still confused.

“Well—not in the sense you’re suggesting. I taught him his craftsmanship.”

“Art theft?!” Shawn and Gus exclaimed together.

Ms. Newman didn’t give a reply.

“But you’re the curator,” Gus said, thinking about how much art the woman skimmed from her own museum.

“It was just a hobby when I was young. But as you can see, I’m retired.”

Shawn on the other hand was ready to put on a show. He sucked in a breath and raised a finger to his head. “The spirits are telling me he stole that painting for _you_. Twice. That’s why you won’t say it’s missing. You are close. He even kept the Bible you gave him.”

Gus said, “Oh my god! You’re not afraid of the bad publicity. You’re the accomplice!” He held out his hand and had a victory fist bump with Shawn. “Wait. Is Rank in on this?”

“Mr. Rank was neither our friend nor the victim.” Ms. Newman’s voice suddenly turned cold.

An image jumped into Shawn’s view. It was the text interface he glimpsed when he got bumped outside. “Rank was not taking _The Sonata_ to an exhibition in another country. He was selling it. And the buyer wasn’t quite happy, judging by the tone they were using.”

Gus asked, “But then he would have more reason to report the crime. Why didn’t he?”

“Perhaps,” Shawn said slowly, “having the painting in the first place is a crime of its own.”

Ms. Newman grinned widely. “Wow, Mr. Spencer. I must say I’m impressed. I can see what he sees in you.”

Shawn smirked, turning to look at Gus proudly.

Gus was not as amused. He hoped one day his friend would give up using obscure and dramatic words as an explanation. “What does that mean, Shawn?”

“I guess he obtained it illegally. Faked the document. Involving the police means he gets busted,” he answered.

Ms. Newman clarified the rest of the story for them. “ _The Sonata_ doesn’t belong to Mr. Rank. It was stolen from my family by someone he hired years ago. He’s a crooked businessman who only has eyes for money. I contacted Pierre when the painting was in Belgium. Unfortunately, it didn’t pan out. Weeks ago I got a tip saying he planned to sell it to a cartel leader who would be the last kind of person I want to see such a beautiful piece end up with.”

Shawn said, “So you think it would be the perfect time to do the job again. Pierre’s free and you basically run this museum. You invited Rank to do an exhibition here, correct?”

“He didn’t know my relationship with the painting. All I did was to tell him gaining the painting more reputation would make him profit more if he planned to sell it in the future.”

“Why didn’t your family report the crime back when it was stolen?” Gus was still skeptical of this woman’s statement.

“I bet her family wasn’t the legal owner as well. Is your family like the mob one from _The Godfather_? Except a _rob_ one?” Shawn winked at her.

“How do I put this—We make decisions to preserve art when it’s necessary.”

“That’s some twisted logic…” Gus thought it was wrong to romanticize art thefts, or any other crimes, unlike Shawn next to him, who didn’t seem to be bothered by this at all.

“Thank you Miss…Um…Atwood? Now we’ve known everything, we’ll be on our way now,” Shawn said.

Gus whispered to Shawn again, “Newman. Not Atwood.”

“You told me it was Atwood!”

“I did not!”

“Gentlemen,” Ms. Newman said. “Everything I just told you, I told you in confidence. If you tell anyone about our conversation, I will simply deny it.”

Shawn nodded and walked out of the office with Gus.

“I knew I could solve it! I need to tell Pierre now.” Shawn took out his phone.

“Actually, that woman told you half of the story. So technically you didn’t solve it.”

“Gus! Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, Shawn. You know that. I just don’t want you to take credit without blinking every time. That’s why Lassiter was always so hard on you.”

“Why are you mentioning him all of a sudden?” Shawn didn’t wait for an answer. Despereaux picked up the phone. “Pierre, I figured it out. Meet me at my place.”

They drove back to Shawn’s apartment afterward. Gus dropped him off.

* * *

Shawn opened the door. There was a sound in his bedroom like someone knocked over something. “Pierre? That’s fast. I called you only like ten minutes ago.”

But the one who walked out wasn’t Despereaux.

“Rank…”

“Where is my painting?” Rank stood in his living room motionless. But it made him scarier than the first time they met.

“I don’t have it. You, yourself, told the police it wasn’t stolen hours ago. Remember? Who am I to disagree?”

“Cut the crap, psychic! I know you have it. You and your thief boyfriend. Give me my painting back!” Rank growled.

“My apartment is only this big. You must’ve searched it through before I came in. You know I don’t have it.”

Rank was in Shawn’s personal space in no time. He grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him to the near wall. “I’ll ask you one more time. Where. Is. It!” With every syllable uttered, Rank slammed Shawn’s back against the wall.

Shawn tried to concentrate. He could feel Rank’s hot breath on his face. The knuckles of Rank’s fists seemed to dig deeper into his chest with every thrust. The dull pain on his back was nothing compared to this. So he tried to pry away Rank’s hands.

“Um…Normal people would’ve called my office and made an appointment. I—I can’t use my psychic abilities under this kind of stressful situation.”

Shawn kept prying, but Rank wouldn’t let go. Instead, he threw Shawn to the ground, not caring when his head hit the corner of a table. “Ah!” Shawn’s hand shot up to palm his cheek which was the victim of this impact.

“Tell me where it is and I’ll be on my way.” Rank’s shadow loomed over Shawn. “If you don’t...”

Shawn tried to get up. He was on his hands and knees when Rank gave him a strong kick in the stomach. Shawn dropped down again and groaned. He couldn’t get a word out, so he lay on the floor curling himself like a fetal, knees tightly sticking to his chest, not wanting to get kicked in the stomach again.

“You thick?!” This time Rank just trampled him repeatedly, each time harder than the last.

Shawn whimpered against the carpet. He squeezed his eyes shut. But the swish sound of Rank’s leg coming down to his body every time was by itself horrifying enough. The pain was everywhere. Rank was upscaling his fury even when Shawn was helplessly lying on the floor.

Suddenly Rank stopped. But Shawn didn’t dare to move. He cracked opened his eyes slightly and saw Rank standing with two hands on his hips and panting. He knew it would be his chance to end the torture. Maybe his only chance. He prepared himself to run to the door with full speed.

But his body wasn’t able to listen to his command. In his mind, he was already out of the door, racing across the street. In reality, he only managed to stumble a step forward. Rank held him in a chokehold without any effort and pulled him back.

Shawn’s feet never fully balanced on the ground. He was being dragged backward. Although he had his hands on Rank’s choking arm, he could only manage shallow breaths. He was seeing stars. His world was becoming darker and darker.

A distant voice that sounded like his dad was telling him how to get out of a chokehold.

He just couldn’t hear it clearly. And he couldn’t remember.

He was blacking out.


	12. Chapter 12

Lassiter was on his way to Shawn’s apartment. With a full-blown afternoon nap, he was out here on his last mission before everything could go back to normal. He needed to hear Shawn say he didn’t mean any of those words he said in the interrogation room.

He was getting out of his car when he saw in the rearview mirror that Shawn’s pajama was still lying at the backseat. He sighed and turned around to get it. But as he was turning back, some moving shadows in the first-floor apartment grasped his attention. A man was choking Shawn. Instinct kicked in. Lassiter was convinced it was only his cop instinct.

He flew out of his car and slammed the car door hard. But the sound must’ve spooked the man inside and let him know someone was coming. Before Lassiter could reach the door, he’d run out and was already running away in another direction. Lassiter got a look at that man and was certain it was Rank.

He didn’t need to debate with himself whether to chase the suspect or to check on Shawn who was only ten feet away.

Lying on his back, not moving, Shawn had his eyelids closed.

Lassiter kneeled beside him. “Shawn, can you hear me?”

“Yeah…” Although Shawn muttered it under his breath, Lassiter let out a sigh in huge relief.

“How badly are you hurt?”

“He kind of stomped on me…a lot…”

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No hospital.”

“You were beaten to a pulp!” Lassiter couldn’t understand what got into the young man.

“No—insurance.”

Lassiter knew Shawn was fighting hard to breathe, only using minimum words. Much delight as it would normally mean to him, he found the specific situation that could result in it quite unthinkable. He didn’t ask any more questions and tried to wrap an arm under Shawn’s back to lift him up. Another hand draped Shawn’s arm on his shoulders.

“Ahhhhhh…” Shawn moaned through clenched teeth.

Lassiter stopped immediately halfway. His heart skipped a beat when he saw he was causing the man more pain than he already was in. Shawn’s eyes screwed shut once more, head tilted back. “Ready to go again?” Lassiter asked.

“Wait! Wait…Okay.”

Lassiter lifted Shawn off the ground and carried him to the couch in one go. They both leaned back on the couch, feeling paralyzed.

“That’s Rank, right?” Lassiter asked.

Shawn nodded.

“I knew there was something wrong with that skunk,” Lassiter grunted. Wasting no time, he called his partner to put out an APB for Rank.

Shawn didn’t make even a little sound to complain—possibly because he couldn’t. But the sweat on his forehead obviously declared for him that he was nowhere near fine.

“You sure about not going to the hospital? You need to get it checked out. Maybe something is broken inside.” Lassiter was worried, but he made his tone harsh. It reminded him of the older Spencer all of a sudden, but he shut the thought down before it could take form.

Shawn chuckled within the scale that his muscles allowed. He turned his head and gave Lassiter a toothy grin. “You care, Lassie. Maybe there is a silver lining in every cloud.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “I just woke up. You were less annoying when you can’t get words out. Don’t get used to it.”

“I most certainly will, Lass Mother-hen.”

There was a knock on the door. Lassiter’s hand went to his holster in an instant.

“Jeez, Lassie. You think a bad guy knocks?! The spirits are telling us that’s my boyfriend.”

“Shut up.” Lassiter still pulled out his gun before opening the door.

Despereaux was outside. “Detective, good evening. I really miss the days when we don’t greet each other with the end of the barrel.”

Lassiter put his gun back and let him in. “Necessary precaution.” He gestured Shawn who sat on the couch clutching his stomach.

Despereaux walked to stand in front of Shawn. He frowned. “Shawn, are you all right? What the hell happened?”

Lassiter snorted. “What happened?! You took Rank’s painting and he decided to get revenge!”

“Rank did this?”

Shawn nodded.

Despereaux shut his eyes and started pacing in the room, his hand raking through his hair. “I didn’t expect him to do this, Shawn.”

“I’d be more surprised if you did. All you care about is that damn painting. Consequences are a joke to you people,” Lassiter snapped.

Shawn tucked Lassiter’s sleeve, shaking his head to beg him to stop talking.

Lassiter ignored him. “Yeah, you think you’re so ethical, do you? With your ‘elegant crime,’ and your ‘mellow temperament.’ Never get your hands dirty. Well guess what?! You’re no different than those skunks like Rank. You’re the reason Shawn was hurt!” 

Silence filled the air between them.

Despereaux glanced at Shawn, trying to ask if Shawn was agreeing with Lassiter’s words.

Shawn shook his head slightly.

Despereaux said, “Lassiter, I think this is between Shawn and me. So we’d like some privacy please.”

“You’re the one who needs to leave,” Lassiter said with a low warning voice.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Not only do I think you should leave now, but also a month ago when you were set free. You rotting in jail would be the best option.”

Despereaux’s posture stiffened. He’d never let anyone get to him like this. He walked toward Shawn again and asked, “Shawn, do you want me to stay or Lassiter?”

Shawn didn’t look up to meet his eyes. His fingers fiddled with a loose thread on one of the cushions. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. He didn’t agree with what Lassiter said. Not in the least. But he felt somehow safer when it was Lassiter by his side. “Pierre—”

“It’s okay. Call me when you’re ready to talk.” Despereaux stomped out of the door. 

* * *

Lassiter did what he did out of disdain toward Despereaux, but he didn’t think that far to anticipate the awkwardness that ensued. For a while, neither of the two men in the tiny room said anything.

Lassiter broke the silence. “Sorry I chased off your boyfriend.” He said so to make him more like a normal human, rather than that he actually felt the need to apologize.

“Nah, it’s okay. He won’t let it get to him. He’s mature enough.”

“Shame.”

Shawn tried to get up, but all he could do was grunt when leaning forward.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to bed. I want to lay down.”

Like earlier, Lassiter wrapped his arm around Shawn’s back and pulled him up. “Easy. Easy.” They walked slowly toward the bedroom.

“Wait. I need to change.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely walk.”

“I’m not exactly a neat freak. But even I don’t want to sleep on my bed with Rank’s dirty footprints.” Shawn had his hand on the bathroom door frame to support himself and walked in alone.

After closing the door behind him, Shawn unbuttoned his shirt and his pants to let them fall to the ground by themselves. _So far so good_ , he thought. Then he looked into the mirror. The right side of his body and his back were covered in huge red patches. He touched one cautiously but couldn’t help but wince.

“Need any help?” Lassiter asked, standing in the living room alone. Right after he said it, he had a mild panic thinking what if Shawn said yes.

Shawn stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only a pair of boxers.

Lassiter’s eyes were trained on his injuries—He made himself doing so. He grimaced in sympathy. “They’ll get uglier in the next few days.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Lassie.” Shawn tried to walk to his bedroom on his own. But Lassiter grabbed his arm immediately, not giving him a chance. “I don’t think I can put on anything now. So this will have to do.”

“Ahhhhhh…” Shawn grunted when he sat down on his bed. “Why did you come here again? Is there a chance I’ve rubbed it off on you, so you _psychically_ saw I was under attack?”

Lassiter had completely forgotten what his initial intention was. But now it poured down on his head like a bucket of ice. “Um, I came here…” He cleared his throat. “I came here to talk to you about what you said to me this morning.”

Shawn kept groaning when he got settled under his comforter. He slumped over his pillow and got into a half-sitting position. “You want to talk? Like _talk_ , talk? That’s a first,” He said. “Could you turn on the lamp for me.”

Lassiter reached for the switch of the lamp on the nightstand.

Shawn patted the bed. “Sit.”

“I don’t think—”

“Come on, Lassie. You said you want to talk. We need to talk on the same eye level. You’re not interrogating me anymore.”

Lassiter hesitated but sat down on the edge with both elbows on knees anyway, fixating his gaze only on the ground. “I want you to tell me why you said those things.”

Shawn frowned in confusion. “What do you mean why?”

“Were you trying to throw me off or something? Perhaps an anti-interrogation tactic I’ve never heard of? I mean, I wouldn’t have asked but—”

“But what?”

Lassiter sat up straight and locked his eyes with Shawn’s.

The bed lamp shined a warm yellow light. It only lit half of the room and also only half of Shawn’s face. The tinge of brown in his left eye took control at this moment. It made him seem even softer than usual. It made Lassiter more honest than ever. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Shawn gave Lassiter a faint smile. “I meant every word I said,” Shawn told him, not hesitating. “We can still act normal around each other, right? I mean, it’s all in the past now.”

“I’ll act like a professional as always. I don’t suppose you’d like to start doing that now?”

Shawn laughed but hissed when the muscle on his face moved to much.

Lassiter moved closer and adjusted the lamp to see his face more clearly. His left cheek was pink and swollen. He reached out his hand before he knew what he was doing. He touched the bruise gently with his thumb and felt the warmth underneath.

Shawn didn’t move away from the touch. Instead, he gazed at the man in front of him whom he felt so distant and close with at the same time, his heart jumping wildly in his chest.

Lassiter met his eyes again. He couldn’t tell what he saw in that deep canyon that gave him the urge to jump. But he had no time to figure it out. Shawn grabbed the front of his shirt to drag him closer and kissed him.

It somehow sent Lassiter into a spinning sensation of déjà vu. But he had never kissed Shawn before. Right?

His hands automatically trailed up to cradle Shawn’s jaw, fingertips loosely touching his hair. Lassiter kissed him back without hesitation and inhibition, hard enough to bruise both of their lips.

But then a string snapped in both of them, one before the other. Suddenly Shawn snapped his head slightly to the left. Lassiter was only met with the corner of his mouth, their lips drawing apart.

Staring at the air between the floor and his eyes, Shawn was unsure and frightened by his own action.

Lassiter drew himself back immediately. Within those few seconds, he dived from feeling elated as if he drank a whole bottle of Scotch to the deep end of hangover nausea. He berated himself for taking advantage of the situation and the man in front of him. He arrested Shawn not more than twenty-four hours ago who was also assaulted in his own home only moments ago.

Lassiter stood up, looking at Shawn who chose to avoid the scrutiny he whole-heartedly believed was coming. Lassiter’s voice jumped out of his throat. He didn’t think forming a full explanation first in his head was realistic. “I’m sorry…Really. It had been a long day. I wasn’t—I wasn’t—” Words failed him.

Shawn had his thumb and forefinger on his forehead as if supporting it would end the heavy feeling his head was dealing with. “I—I have Pierre…What have I done…”

Lassiter felt a pang of guilt in the heart. But also something else he couldn’t put his fingers on—All he knew was he hated Shawn’s response from every aspect. “I’ll leave now.” He turned around but a hand grabbed his. He closed his eyes, fearing what was coming next. Anger? Accusation?

“Stay.” Shawn swallowed thickly. “Please.”

Lassiter could’ve said no. He was demanding himself to simply refuse the request and leave this crazy day to an abrupt end he so desperately needed. But all he said was he would be outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “distance,” Christina Perri  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/5WDlNHQW1LmcQIA15oGjiW)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Christina-perri-distance-lyrics)


	13. Chapter 13

A blinding beam of light and the sound of curtains being drawn open waked Shawn up. He covered his eyes with one hand begrudgingly.

“Rise and shine, Spencer.” Lassiter was standing at the end of the bed, both hands on hips. After a whole night of pondering, he decided the quickest way to have everything back to normal was to pretend that everything was back to normal.

“What time is it?” Shawn mumbled, drawing his comforter up to cover his whole head.

“Seven. I need to get to work. And you’re coming with me to the station to make a statement about yesterday.”

“I told you he didn’t steal the painting.” Shawn wasn’t completely out of his daze. Rather, he was half-asleep again already.

“Not Despereaux. Rank.”

Shawn grumbled, “Ten more minutes…”

“No, you’re not.” Lassiter walked to the closet and searched for some clothes. He randomly took out a shirt and a pair of jeans and threw them on top of Shawn.

“Just go. I’ll come later.”

“By later you mean afternoon, maybe even tomorrow. We need to get this over with quick.”

“Fine! Fine!” Shawn slowly sat up, hissing vehemently. He started to get dressed but groaned loudly with each step. “I don’t need an audience, Lassie.”

“Oh,” Lassiter said, a tinge of redness crept up onto his cheeks. He went out of the bedroom and closed the door.

After another agonizing five minutes for both men—for Shawn because of those gruesome and painful bruises; for Lassiter because of Shawn’s penetrating wail through the thin wall—Shawn walked toward the bathroom.

Lassiter stood up and sat down. Stood up and sat down. He was like an ADHD kid except the real one was inside. “You finished?” He yelled toward the bathroom door.

“Yes. I’m just waiting to be served with Franken Berry breakfast cereal on my toilet,” Shawn yelled back. “Of course I haven’t!”

Lassiter’s muttered words didn’t escape Shawn’s attention.

“What’s that?” Shawn asked.

“I said ‘take your time’! It’s not like we have a bad guy to catch!” That was not what Lassiter had said.

Shawn strolled out, actually taking Lassiter’s sarcastic advice about taking his time. “Oh, Lass, to you there’s always a bad guy to catch.” Shawn grinned. “All yours now.” He gestured the bathroom, but he noticed Lassiter was too clean-shaven and suited to be needing it.

“Used the one in my own apartment.”

“And you came back to be my personal rooster?”

“Let’s go!” Lassiter ignored him and was out of the apartment swiftly.

“ _Allons-y_!”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I learned it from Gus.”

* * *

“Take me to my office first,” Shawn said in Lassiter’s car.

“What? Why?”

“I have some pain meds there.”

“Hurt a lot?”

Shawn feigned a low and coarse voice. “Nothing a tough man like me couldn’t handle.”

Lassiter sighed but complied with Shawn’s wishes.

On the street, Shawn trudged toward his office. Lassiter was walking behind him, wearing a pair of shades and a black suit with an impatient face. Before Shawn could reach for the doorknob, Lassiter saw the door was slightly ajar. He pulled out his gun instantly.

“Wow, you look just like my bodyguard.”

Lassiter raised a finger to his lips to shush him. He pushed the door open little by little and moved inside, gesturing Shawn to stay put. But Shawn, like always, followed him.

“Freeze! SBPD!” Lassiter shouted and raised his gun to take aim.

“Jesus!” Henry’s voice vibrated in the office.

“Dad?” Shawn peeked around his bodyguard’s torso. Lassiter lowered his gun and rolled his eyes.

Henry stepped away from where he was standing and revealed a Gus at his desk.

Gus had his eyes wide open. “Can a man get some paperwork down quietly before he goes to his _real_ job without having a gun pointed at him?!”

Henry’s gaze landed on Shawn’s bruised cheek. “What happened?”

Lassiter promptly answered, “What happened—Despereaux was what happened.” He snorted, not noticing the change of atmosphere in the room.

Henry looked ill and ready to kill. “Despereaux did this to you? He hit you?!”

Gus was out of his seat as well, walking toward them.

“Lassie! Drama queen much?!” Shawn glared at Lassiter. He turned to Henry and Gus. “No, guys. Relax. What you saw in front of you is not Exhibit A of domestic violence. Okay? Rank did this.”

“Who’s Rank?” Henry crossed his arms.

Gus reminded him, “The owner of the painting that no one claims stolen.”

“It’s still Despereaux’s fault. I knew he’s bad news. Trust me, kid, I can smell trouble from miles away. That guy is no good to you,” Henry said. “Actually that’s what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Suddenly everyone wants to talk,” Shawn mumbled under his breath.

“I want to meet him.”

“Since when did you decide we’re at the _Meet-the-Fockers_ stage?”

Gus interjected, “Shawn, if this is the first time, it would be _Meet the Parents._ _Meet the Fockers_ was the second film.”

“Since he got my son arrested in the middle of the night in an art museum,” Henry said. “And by what I know now, his enemy is coming after you.”

“And Despereaux drugged him,” Lassiter said without giving a warning.

“Would you let it go?!” Shawn growled at him, gritting his teeth.

“What?!” And Henry thought he’d been struck by lightning enough times in the last week. “You know what, kid? I just want to meet him. Give me an explanation, don’t give me an explanation, it’s up to you. But I’d like to know the one who got you so hell-bent on standing by his side.”

Shawn bit his tongue. He was afraid Henry might take out a gun and borrow another one from Lassiter if he brought Despereaux home. Then again, letting people around him to know Pierre better could actually turn out to be the only way to sway their opinion. He believed his boyfriend had enough charisma to do that. “So you won’t bother me any more about us if I take him to meet you?”

“We’ll see,” Henry wasn’t someone who would make a promise he couldn’t keep.

Lassiter shook his head in the office corner and tapped his watch with a finger. “Hurry, Spencer. I don’t have all morning to hang around your office.”

* * *

After Shawn finished making his statement, he left the station to meet with Despereaux, despite Lassiter’s protest that he shouldn’t be alone until they captured Rank. To this, Shawn responded, “Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll take him down with my big toe while wearing my sheet as a cape.”

“Shawn.” Despereaux stood in the doorway of his house.

“Can I come in?”

“Please.”

Getting into the hallway, Shawn wrung his hands and stumbled out the words, “I’m sorry things got a little intense last night.”

“No, Shawn, I’m the one who ought to apologize. Rank is more dangerous than I thought. He was no more than an unscrupulous businessman in my eyes before yesterday. I’m sorry you have to pay for my misjudgment.”

“It was nothing. I had everything under control,” Shawn shoved his hands into his pockets and said dismissively. “You should’ve seen the colors on him.”

Despereaux shook his head resignedly. “Shawn, I know you have no self-defense skills.”

“Wh—what are you talking about?! I’m as agile as a cat.”

Despereaux didn’t dignify that with a response and cut to the chase. “I know you talked with Ms. Newman yesterday. Can I assume you’ve been informed with all the details?”

“Probably. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me.”

“You would’ve agreed?”

“Well—” Shawn opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried again. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“This shouldn’t have concerned you,” Despereaux said, walking closer. “You don’t deserve to be put into this dilemma. I didn’t have a choice because I owe Ms. Newman. She was the one who saw the talent in an ignorant young man. She offered me this life. And I agree with her reason for wanting the painting back.” He paused, making sure Shawn was paying attention. “This was meant to be my last theft as I’ve told you before.”

“Are you serious? You’re giving up everything? You’re not just saying this because that’s what I want to hear? ”

“I wouldn’t say everything. My job, to put it mildly, is only a part of my life. It took me to some most wonderful places one could only dream of visiting. But I’ve found something better.” Despereaux gazed into Shawn’s eyes intently.

“By any chance, that something is me?” Shawn wrapped his arms around Despereaux, looking up affectionately with a mischievous smile.

“A very good chance.” Despereaux closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss him. But Shawn pulled away.

“Um…” Lassiter’s face doused with the warm yellow light in his bedroom, inches close to his, came into his view. Shawn felt guilty of those mere seconds, or—were he willing to dig deeper and admit—something he wasn’t able to let go of for a long time.

Despereaux asked, “You still have reservations about us?” Thinking back about last night when Shawn chose Lassiter over him without actually speaking out loud and every time Shawn’s attitude toward such a barbaric, gun-wielding, short-tempered, and inhibited man who was the complete opposite of the free spirit he’d gotten to known and fell for, Despereaux couldn’t help but concede it would be better for Shawn’s reason to be he wasn’t law-abiding or he lied. If not, things would be out of his hands.

Shawn answered it with a soft kiss on his lips. He didn’t want to hesitate by overthinking. Not about what to eat at dinner. Not about whether he should trust another one of Despereaux’s promises. Not about Lassiter or Despereaux…

Despereaux pulled him closer with one hand on the small of his back.

“Ah!” Shawn recoiled instantly. “Sorry. Bruises. I think we have to put off all the actions for a while.”

Despereaux simply nodded.

“By the way, you’re going to meet ‘the Fockers.’ No. Just one ‘Focker.’”

Despereaux raised his eyebrows, waiting for Shawn’s further clarification.

“My dad. He wants to see you next Sunday.”

“I thought these relationship milestones didn’t interest you.”

“He’s a person who doesn’t take no for an answer. So I decided to play the bigger man.”

“I will happily accept the invitation, as long as you don’t have any problem with it.”

* * *

It seemed like everything was back to normal, as normal as a typical day in the SBPD could be. The police found out that Rank had checked out of his hotel and purchased a plane ticket to Norway. They believed that he had left the country.

But doubt rooted in Lassiter’s mind like before. Normally, he would’ve stayed straight and narrow—see the evidence, draw the obvious conclusion. Listening to gut feelings had always been Spencer’s department. He wasn’t acting like himself. He hadn’t been for a while.

“Chief, if Rank was out of the country, we need to extradite him. But I don’t think he actually left. I think—”

“You don’t think anything, Detective. It’s a simple assault case. There is no way DA would make a request for extradition because of this,” Chief said. “Mr. Spencer is one of us. I understand that you’re upset about this—”

“I’m not upset,” Lassiter corrected her right away. “I’m just being thorough.”

Chief looked at him amused. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week. We don’t have any lead. So I have to ask you to divert your attention to your other ongoing and more serious cases.”

Lassiter walked back to his desk.

“How did it go?” Juliet asked promptly.

“She said no.”

“I’m sorry, Carlton. I know you’re upset.”

“Why does everyone keep saying I’m upset?! I’m just doing my job!”

Juliet ignored his partner’s incessant denial. “Have you talked to Shawn yet?”

“He came here doing juggling almost every day since then, which miraculously resulting in him closing another case. Yes, we talked. You were there, O’Hara,” Lassiter said impatiently.

“Not like that. I mean about what happened that night.”

Lassiter was as still and cold as an ice sculpture. How did she know he and Shawn kissed? Spencer did have a big mouth… _Damn it!_ Sweat started pouring down his forehead.

“Carlton! Carlton!” Juliet waved a hand in front of his face. “Did you hear me? I said Shawn could’ve sensed something about Rank, right?”

Lassiter snorted at the suggestion that Shawn was a psychic, but at the same time sighed in relief she wasn’t privy to the detail of that night. His body visibly relaxed. He cleared his throat. “No. He’s definitely of no use in that way. He said he didn’t see anything out of place.”

“Maybe we’re just grasping straws. Shawn’s not that worried.”

“He’s not worried if you put a knife on his neck or a gun on his forehead,” Lassiter retorted. “I’m right about Despereaux stealing that painting. I’m sure I’m right that Rank is not out of our lives yet.”

Juliet didn’t stay to argue. Lassiter had his determined face on, so she had zero to minus one chance of getting through him. Also because like her partner, she had a sense of foreboding that Shawn wasn’t out of the danger zone yet.


	14. Chapter 14

Before Shawn knocked on the door, he looked at Despereaux and said, “He’s definitely going to give a dad-threatening-to-kill-if-you-hurt-my-son speech. There’s no doubt you can count him on that. Just don’t let him put you off.”

“Why would that put me off? He’s a concerned father. I can see it through his rough exterior.”

“Well, for both of our safety and to save us from any awkwardness, I’d rather you don’t see that,” Shawn mumbled.

Despereaux knocked three times. Henry let them in. “Mr. Spencer, I’m Pierre Despereaux. I would’ve brought wine but Shawn insisted that you would prefer barbeque sauce.” He handed him a bottle. Despereaux commented as his eyes were greeted with fish models on the walls, “Very cutting-edge decor you have here. You must be a proud fisherman.”

“Thanks for the sauce.” Henry squeezed out a smile and walked past them toward the kitchen, patting Shawn on the back. “Sit. Please. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Told you.” Shawn grinned at Despereaux, knowing he’d gotten the right response from his dad. “But ‘cutting-edge’ and ‘you must be a proud fisherman’? The fishes’ teeth are super cutting no doubt. Believe me, I was hurt by them before. And it happened _after_ they got on the walls. Come on. You gotta bring you A game for this. Do that without indulging him in this cruel and boring activity.”

Henry took a few deep breaths in his own kitchen to steady himself. He was going to stay civil as he had planned. He was not going to push Shawn away by doing the usual yelling and accusing.

Ever since Shawn told him about Despereaux, his thought regarding his son’s boyfriend was either putting a bullet through his scull or drowning him in the kitchen sink. He still wasn’t sure what was the psychology behind Shawn’s choice of picking a criminal, a thief who had brought nothing but trouble, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get to the end of that. Calling Maddie was on the top of his to-do-list. But first, he needed to be in Shawn’s trust circle.

In the living room, Despereaux opened a family album on his lap Shawn took out from one of the drawers. “You and Gus are inseparable,” He commented.

“Yeah. He’s one of the family.”

Despereaux spotted another man. “Finally, I can see where you get your hair from.”

“That’s Uncle Jack. Dad’s younger brother.”

“Who’s also about the same age as you.” Henry appeared in the hallway, shooting them a stern look. “Dinner’s ready. Hope you enjoy my basic cooking skills.” He then turned around and walked away.

“Just be glad he didn’t grill you about the age thing,” Shawn said. “Let’s be honest. That’s the one thing we can do nothing about.”

“I’m comfortable with my own age. Wishing to get younger is a mistake lots of people make. Out of discontent of their past. Or out of fear towards the future. I’m not one of them,” answered Despereaux. Leaning closer to Shawn, he added under his breath, “And you like me being older.”

* * *

They mostly ate their dinner in silence, except for Shawn’s ignored blabbering in the background. The awkwardness was building up, at least in Shawn’s eyes. He threw the napkin on the table begrudgingly. “Bone-crushing tension, you guys. Please say something. I can’t do all the job here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to badger you about your relationship.”

“Well, I didn’t. I still don’t. But we’re here to get to know each other. Come on! Dad, you can ask questions like ‘what’s your favorite food?’ or ‘how do you do your hair every day?’—”

“What do you want from Shawn?” Henry deadpanned.

Shawn jumped out of his chair swiftly. “Okay, I’m out. I’ll be in the living room.”

Despereaux sat there, unfazed under Henry’s glare. “I love Shawn. He’s brought brighter colors into my everyday existence.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I intend to keep having him in my life.”

Henry rubbed his chin with his hand. “Shawn’s smart. He always has a way to see through a person. But it’s those he loves that he turns a blind eye to. Like his Uncle Jack. I’m not sure he even realizes that.”

“That’s one of his best qualities. He trusts people easily.”

“Or the worst one that would drag him into a dangerous world. I think he already trusts you too much.”

“Mr. Spencer—”

“No. I’m not here to break you up. Even after whatever you pulled in the museum. I don’t get to decide his life anymore. I’ve done that too many times and for too long,” Henry said, looking back to all the years Shawn deemed him overbearing, perhaps including now. He took a deep breath and continued, “His future is his and his alone. He has to make his own choices. He said he’s happy with you and I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Thank you. And I’m very happy with him. I know it’s not easy for you to say those words.”

“I’m not finished.” Henry leaned across the table, eyes unwavering. “He trusts you. But I never will. You don’t get any benefit of the doubt from me. If you hurt my son—whether it be those crimes from your past, or your funny antics in the future—bare this in mind, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. I will search high and low for you till you pay the price.”

Shawn eavesdropped from his dad’s living room. There it was—his dad’s speech he had anticipated. But hearing it with his own ears, he felt different. It wasn’t embarrassment that peaked out of his heart like sprouts in the early spring.

Far from it.

* * *

“What do you think of it?” Despereaux inspected _The Sonata_ with earnest attention.

“Yep.” Shawn slapped his laps with his hands. “Definitely an old painting.”

They were standing in Ms. Newman’s home. It had been another quiet week since they met with Henry. Despereaux asked Shawn to come and take a look at the painting more carefully.

Despereaux laughed at Shawn’s answer.

“What? You know I don’t know those big fancy words for something like this.”

“I know. I know. I just want us to appreciate my last job one more time, since your first time meeting it in the museum was tragically cut short by a detective.”

“Lassie does take the fun out of everything.”

Ms. Newman joined them. “I think it only counts as a half work, Pierre. I’m your inside man.”

“He had an inside man all the time.”

“No, I don’t, Shawn. I’ll tell you all about my glorious past if you just let me.”

“Fine. You can tell me some of it. Not anything that I have to call the police about. Well, the ball’s in your court now. It’s not like I’m dying to know or something.”

The smile on Ms. Newman’s face told Despereaux she liked Shawn more and more. “You two would’ve made great partners in crime.”

“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” Shawn asked. “Yes, we would have. With my psychic abilities and ninja skills, I’m sure I can take whatever I want from the Pentagon.”

“Deborah, would you excuse us for a moment?”

Ms. Newman nodded knowingly and went into another room.

“Shawn, I meant what I said. I will leave this all behind,” Despereaux turned to Shawn and said. “So, I want to ask you again if you’d like to come with me. To places you’ve never been to. We’ll have adventures neither of us has ever had. Not as my partner in crime. Just as my partner. And I’m sure there’s room for private investigators like you anywhere. You can come back to Santa Barbara anytime you want. What do you say?”

Shawn had yearned for the kind of life Despereaux just described. He didn’t regard his life as lacking anything at this moment, but a carefree future was appealing in its own unimaginable and charismatic way.

He looked at _The Sonata_ , thinking he could never have tolerated the dullness like the girl sitting in front of the piano was experiencing. It was such a grind. Day after day, learning to play using the same sheet music over and over. But everyone else in his life seemed to accept the grind just fine.

Gus had his pharmaceutical job he would never give up.

Dad was in cop mode since the first day he opened his eyes to see him.

Jules was climbing up the ladder to be a head detective like Lassie.

Lassie’s life goal was to become the chief in his police department.

And Lassie…

“Can I have more time to think about it?”

“Of course. But Shawn, you know you have to make a decision eventually. I won’t be here waiting forever.”

* * *

After Shawn left Ms. Newman’s home, he wandered on the streets. He told Despereaux he’d like some alone time. But a vague silhouette in the fog was tugging him in his mind.

His legs took him to a bus station. The bus took him to the man’s apartment. Like always, he let himself in.

Lassiter’s apartment was as neat and lifeless as every other time Shawn had seen. It wasn’t like a bachelor’s home, but someone who had signed on a contract agreeing that life could only have that much fun. Accepting life as what it was. Like the girl learning to play the sonata.

Lassiter wasn’t home. He must still be at work. So Shawn sat down on the sofa, turned on the TV, and waited for him to come back. But not before he took out a jar of peanut butter and a bag of whole-grain bread to treat himself.

The sound of a key in the keyhole sent Shawn dodging behind the sofa. He was sure the moment Lassiter saw any motion or heard any sound, it would only be a matter of milliseconds before his gun was out of the holster.

“Don’t shoot! It’s me. Dear Shawn.”

“Spencer, what are you doing in my apartment?” Lassiter put down his gun on the kitchen counter.

Crisis successfully averted, Shawn stood up. “Do you have some time?”

“Is this about the Rank case?”

“No. No. It’s about the Pierre Despereaux case.”

“What do you mean? He wants to confess?”

“He asked me to leave with him.”

Lassiter was sure something was eating him alive. So he said, “It’s none of my business.”

“I believe it is.” Shawn knew Lassiter would say something like that. He wasn’t discouraged. He had prepared for this. “I said I liked you, and we kissed the other night—”

“It was a mistake,” Lassiter interjected.

“Was it?”

“Unlike your chaotic life, Spencer, mine is perfectly structured. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“But Lassie, chaos is good. It makes your everyday life like different flavors of skittles.”

Lassiter closed his eyes. The pressure he was feeling was going to overflow from the tank. “Spencer, you listen to me. Ever since the first day you barged into the station with your waving limbs and eternally loud piehole, my life has been turned upside down. I have to put in a lot of work to achieve a balance you would never comprehend. So excuse me for not wanting you to stir it with your skittles.”

Shawn didn’t back down. Instead, he walked closer to Lassiter. “So you know why I came here?”

Lassiter knew. He knew the moment Shawn told him what Despereaux wanted. If Shawn was going to leave, he would leave without saying goodbye. Shawn came here because there was a part of him that wanted to stay. And he thought Lassiter could be the reason. “I think you should go. Leave with Despereaux.” He was afraid to be the reason.

“Why do you have to be so heartless every time?” Shawn asked. “Isn’t that tiresome? Are you even a human underneath?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?!” Lassiter snapped. “I know you think my boring life is beneath you. So why are you still in it? Why are you still _here_ torturing me? You and Despereaux can go and fight against the world by yourselves for all I care.”

“What if I don’t want it? What if, for once in my life, I have my hands on some kind of normalcy and I’m not willing to give up yet?”

Lassiter said nothing. He slumped into his sofa. He wasn’t ready for this conversation when he walked into his home and found Shawn hiding in there and he wasn’t ready now.

“Lassie, I never find your life beneath me. I find it different. That’s it. You’re the one who refuses to accept me for what I am from the beginning.” Shawn found his eyes stung. “I’ve always wanted to try new things. See the most magnificent films. Taste all the hot sauce the planet is willing to offer…But I can’t live without those peanut butter and bread. I can’t.”

Lassiter dug his elbows in his knees with his two hands crossed. Without even looking up, he could see his peanut butter jar and whole-grain bread sitting on the coffee table. Some mud stain on his right shoe was draining away all his logic. It must be it. Because otherwise, it would really be himself that started a wild imagination.

…

_“What are we watching tonight?” Shawn asked, sitting on the sofa of their home. He’d put his feet on the coffee table. But his shoes were taken off, because his partner had a no-shoes-on-the-furniture policy._

_“You’re letting me decide?” Lassiter sat down beside him, slightly surprised. “You never let me decide.”_

_“That’s because my eyes can’t be tainted with your stinky movie taste. But not tonight. You get to pick. Even those Clint Eastwood movies.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Why not? Because I love you, Lassie.”_

…

Lassiter didn’t move an inch on his sofa. He had already come up with what he was going to say. But he couldn’t muster up the unattached tone he thought he had within arms reach.

“You can. You just have to try harder,” he told Shawn.

Shawn nodded, only to himself, and left Lassiter’s apartment. The door closed silently between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I Won’t Send Roses,” John Barrowman  
> If you’re willing to watch a youtube video (I couldn’t find an audio version): [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/1dtCwGtLvj11UlvFVBBPBx)  
> If you want lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/John-barrowman-i-wont-send-roses-lyrics)


	15. Chapter 15

Shawn went back to the Psych office. Darkness had enveloped the sky. Gus said he would be there. He told himself he wasn’t upset about Lassiter’s indifference, repetitively. It just made him see things with more clarity.

“Shawn. What’s so urgent you can’t wait till tomorrow? I had an online poker game planned.”

“Gus.” Shawn had a conviction—if he couldn’t say it now, he couldn’t say it forever. “I’m leaving with Pierre.”

Gus plopped down in the armchair. “You’re leaving with Pierre.”

“Yes.”

“And you told me that because this isn’t you on a whim…’Cause you wouldn’t, right? You wouldn’t do that to your oldest friend. Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“This isn’t me on a whim. This is happening, Gus. I’m sorry—” But before he could finish, Gus chocked him with a bone-crushing bear hug. “Gus, I’m not leaving you forever. I’ll come by at least eight times a week. Nothing will change.”

“That’s not true at all! You know that,” Gus said grimly, still not letting go Shawn.

“Jeez! You smell more and more like my boyfriend now.” Shawn laughed.

Gus released his friend immediately. “No, Shawn, I smell more and more like _Terre d'Hermes Parfum_. He happens to use the same kind.”

“You bought it after I told you he uses that brand.”

Gus’s face was suddenly contorted.

“Are you angry or are you crying?” Shawn asked tentatively.

“Both.” Gus wiped away a drop of tear on his face. “I’m a sympathetic crier.”

“I’m not crying, Gus. Not yet.”

“It’s that little girl outside.” Gus pointed at the girl looking in through the window on the street.

“I’m pretty sure she was crying _after_ she saw you crying.” Shawn handed him the tissue box anyway. “Gus, buddy, I’m really sorry I have less chance to put your life on the line now. I’m sure you can find some criminal to point a gun at you yourself. I have faith in you.” He patted Gus on the back.

Gus chuckled between sobs. “You know I won’t miss that,” he said. “I sort of knew this day is going to come though, ever since Despereaux offered to fly away with you. I know you really love him.”

“I really do.”

“So…you’re over Lassie? Completely?”

“Why do you have to bring him up?”

“You told me you kissed not long ago. And oh, I don’t know—maybe the fact that before Despereaux came along you’d pined over him for five years?!”

Shawn found himself unwilling to conjure up that memory. “That was a mistake. And he told me today he thinks I should go.”

Gus’s expression was serious all of a sudden. “You didn’t make the life-changing decision because you’re mad at Lassiter, did you?”

“No, Gus. I’m thirty-three, not forty-four. This is not my midlife crisis,” Shawn said. “I was going to do it anyway. He just—He just didn’t give me a reason to stay. He didn’t say those words. Not even ‘Shawn, thank you for your intelligence. I don’t know what the SBPD would do without you.’”

“So you’d stay if he told you to?”

Shawn couldn’t think of a suitable and logical answer. He wished things would be as easy as an open-and-shut case he solved. Hours ago in Lassiter’s apartment, he certainly thought so—heard the words then he would stay. But now, he only knew the world where Lassiter pushed him away. He didn’t have an answer for Gus.

Gus sighed. “Shawn, you’re my friend, but you don’t belong to me. Although you do use my credit cards, need me to drive you around, I claim you on my taxes, I give you one-third of my salary—”

“Gus, there’s never a need to list unimportant details.”

“What I’m saying, Shawn, is that if you’ve made the decision to fly the nest, I understand,” Gus hugged Shawn again, albeit not as tight and suffocating as the first time. “You go find your adventure. Be happy. Just don’t forget the friend who nearly got stung by a swarm of bees when we were ten because you wanted to see what would happen if you poked a beehive.”

“And you were saved by me who had the tremendous heroism to push you into the pool no questions asked,” Shawn said. “I won’t forget you. Not a chance.”

“Have we hugged for too long?”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” Gus drew away. “Do you want some burritos for dinner?”

“I’m amazed after all these years you still need to ask what my stomach thinks.”

“I’ll go get some. And we’ll talk more when neither of us is ravenous.” Gus was out of the door but went back seconds later. “Don’t even think about leaving now. I’ll kill you and your burritos will automatically become my property.”

* * *

Shawn heard the office door creaked open. “That was quick, Gus. You made another record in our final days.”

But the man walked in wasn’t Gus.

“Rank.” Shawn swallowed loudly. He jumped up from his chair, ready to dash to the front door, which was inconveniently being blocked by Rank. “Why do I keep mistaking you for someone else?”

“Maybe you’re always surrounded by a bunch of people.” Rank took long strides forward and grabbed Shawn’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”

Shawn wriggled away and made a run for the opposite direction. But Rank was quicker. Tackling him, Rank knocked over his table and every toy and paper on it dropped to the floor with the two men. Rank flipped him over, looking straight at Shawn’s terrified face. “Oh, you’re making this harder than it should be.” Before Shawn could utter a word, Rank plunged his fist into his face twice fiercely, knocking his head hard on the floor. Blood expelling from his nose, Shawn remembered nothing afterward.

* * *

“Shawn!” Gus yelled before he even stepped into the office. “What do you want to watch while we’re eating?”

“Shawn?” The chaos of the Psych office burned his eyes without reservation. “Shawn?” He shouted louder, hoping it was just a mess Shawn made, although his voice was trembling, betraying his logical fear.

Then he saw the blood spatter on the floor. “Oh god…” He started panicking. Unlike that night when he thought Shawn was dead on his bed, the chance of him being hurt or even dead this time surged to its maximum. He hastily reached for the bear doll that had been sitting on his desk for almost two weeks. A small security camera was hidden inside.

Then he took out his phone and dialed the one number he knew he could trust to bring Shawn back.

“Lassiter.”

“Someone attacked him! It must’ve been Rank! He—He came to our office. I was out buying burritos and I told him not to leave—Maybe it’s not Rank. I don’t know! I haven’t checked the camera. And there’s blood here! Oh god…He’s going to die!”

Lassiter was out of the door running toward his car instantly. “Guster, calm down.” Although he gave Gus this order, he could hardly stay calm himself. It took him three tries to put the car key into the ignition. His cold sweaty hands were almost numb. “You’re at the Psych office, right? Get out and don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.”

* * *

The squad cars arrived before Lassiter. Some police officers and the forensic team were already inside. Gus was sitting on the ground in front of the window that screamed “Psych.”

“Tell me again what you found.” Using an unruffled tone, Lassiter tried his best not to unnerve Gus or himself any further.

Walking into the scene with the detective, Gus told him every detail he encountered after he bought the burritos.

 _A textbook crime scene_ , Lassiter thought, looking around the familiar space. _Assailant went in. Assaulted the victim. Blood spatter—belonged to the victim—nine out of ten times. Victim nowhere to be seen. Kidnapping? Waiting for a ransom call next. Take the perp down. Have to do it in the next seventy-two hours. Otherwise…_ Then Lassiter’s mind went blank. He tried to shut himself out. Only a cop was enough.

“You said you have a security camera?”

“I bought it after Shawn got attacked by Rank. He doesn’t know it. I haven’t got a chance to put one in his apartment.”

“Anyone checked the camera yet?” Lassiter directed the question toward the forensic technicians.

One of them answered, “Yes, sir. It’s on that computer if you want to take a look.”

Lassiter walked to the computer she pointed at. The video was paused at a scene where Shawn sat at his desk alone. He mentally noted it was the same outfit he was in when he came to his apartment hours ago. Also the one he imagined Shawn was in when he asked him to choose what to watch on TV in his head. _Is it only hours ago?_ He pressed play.

It was Rank. The video didn’t have great resolution, but the scared expression on Shawn’s face wasn’t masked at all. The camera angle didn’t catch the two figures after Shawn was tackled to the floor. But Lassiter had a pretty good idea of what happened next when he saw Rank’s elbow raised twice in the air. Afterward, Rank threw Shawn over his shoulder and walked out of the front door.

“No audio?” Lassiter asked.

But Gus didn’t hear him. He was still staring at the now paused video.

“Guster.”

“Um, no. It’s a cheap one,” Gus mumbled. “Should’ve used a baby monitor.”

“Have you contacted Despereaux?”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “He’s next on the list after I called you.”

“His father?”

“Him too.”

Lassiter nodded and went outside by himself. Hands still sticky with sweat, he sucked in a chunk of cool October air. Just as he thought he could manage this as any other case, he saw Despereaux got out of his car, walking toward the office. Before Despereaux could reach the door, Lassiter suddenly swung his arm and punched the face he thought he would perpetually hate, nearly knocking Despereaux over to the ground. While he was trying to regain his balance and making sure his cheekbone was still intact, Lassiter yanked him up and thrashed him to a wall nearby.

Gus and some officers heard the sound and went out to check, but they all chose to stay ten feet away.

“You listen to me.” Lassiter made sure he said every word clearly even through clenched teeth. “Shawn’s life’s on the line. There is no time for your stupid little game! Rank should’ve been coming after you. Not him! Cooperate with the police fully, get him back, or I’ll make sure you never see the light of the day. And I don’t mean merciful jail time.” Lassiter released him and took a step back, eyes cold and unfaltering.

Juliet ran toward them from her car after witnessing all the not-so-polite interaction between the two men or to be more precise, one cop assaulting someone at a crime scene. “Carlton!” She glared at those bystanders including Gus and uniformed officers. “None of you was going to stop him?” None of them was willing to meet her eyes.

“Lassiter.” She dragged her partner to the side. “If I see you behave like this one more time, I’ll have no choice but to tell Chief to keep you off this case.”

“What?! That doesn’t make any sense. I’m the Head Detective.”

“Exactly. You’re a detective, so act like one. Stay calm. Even if you’re personally involved.”

Lassiter was struck by her words. He’d never thought there would be one day when he would be called out for being unprofessional. He reluctantly nodded and pointed at Despereaux. “Take him and Guster to the station and keep him there. I’ll stay here in case they found anything else. Call Henry and let him go straight to the station as well. He would be no use here. We can’t rule out the possibility that the ransom demand would be directed toward him or Guster, if Rank is too stupid to tell who has his painting.”

Gus was behind him. Unsure about Lassiter’s theory, he asked, “What if Rank doesn’t want money or the painting? What if he just wants revenge?”

“We can’t afford to think that,” Lassiter answered simply with his back to Gus, even though his heart dropped to his stomach when Gus voiced his own fear out loud. Then he pulled Juliet to the side, making sure Gus was out of earshot. “One more thing, O’Hara. Rank went in and out of the office through the front door. He doesn’t care that someone might see him. Either he’s dumb or he’s not afraid this thing escalates quickly to the point of police involvement.”

“That’s not a good sign.” Juliet sighed.

“Yeah…” Lassiter turned and headed toward the office door, though reluctant to face what was inside. 

Despereaux stood silently by the door, deep in thought whilst staring at the person who attacked him. “Detective,” he said with a barely audible yet menacing voice when Lassiter walked past him, refusing to give him a second look, “rage never accomplishes anything, does it?”


	16. Chapter 16

Shawn drifted awake, eyes still screwed shut. This was way worse than the time Despereaux drugged him, Shawn noted sleepily. An imaginary bed was calling and pulling him from somewhere. He felt like his brain was put into a blender and crushed into mashed potatoes, waiting to be served on Thanksgiving. Or was currant jelly more appropriate? His nose, on the other hand, was as if it were put into boiling water. He wanted to vomit. Then he remembered his stomach was empty because Gus hadn’t brought him dinner burritos.

“Gus?” He mumbled.

Footsteps answered him. He forced his eyes open and saw the pair of leather shoes on the wood floor. Before he could raise his head and trace the shoes to its owner, a baseball bat landed on his middle.

“Ahhhhhh!” Shawn tilted his head backward and squeezed his eyes shut again. He thought he heard his ribs cracked. The only question was how many. “Gotcha! Not Gus…” Then he took in the scene around him.

He was sitting in a wooden chair, hands tied behind his back and feet strapped to the chair legs. And according to the heavy hairy ball sitting on his shoulders, he had a concussion. Every breath now hurt. Thanks to Rank.

“What was that for?” Shawn asked.

“The baseball bat?” Rank snorted. “It was just lying there in the corner. That’s for what you’ve put me through since you took the painting from me. Trust me, you deserve more.”

“I told you I don’t have—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah. Blah. Whatever. You don’t have it, then your boyfriend has it.”

Shawn realized then that he was being held for ransom. “Dude, you have so much money. The police thought you went to Norway. Why risk it for a single painting? I’m sure you’ve got dozens in your house. Well, if you’re not the artistic type already, you can still afford them.”

Rank bent over, pressing his two hands on Shawn’s laps for support, and leaned in. Shawn couldn’t help himself but shrink away, arching his back as best as he could. Rank growled, “I want that one!”

 _How petty_ , Shawn thought.

After Rank stood back up, Shawn looked him up and down, grasping everything there was. Rank was sweating profusely. His hands were shaking. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty compared to the last time. Even though he was the kidnapper, his posture was defensive. He kept looking toward the door. Either he was afraid of the police busting him, or…

“The buyer isn’t happy to see his thing got stolen. Am I right?” Shawn ventured. “And you’re on the run ever since.”

Rank was silent for a while. “You’re quite good. I have to give you that.” He said flatly. Then suddenly, like a full-blown malware, he pounded the desk with both of his fists and yelled, “Damn it! Fuck!”

Shawn visibly flinched in his chair.

“He sent someone to kill me! I give him the fucking painting or I’m dead!” He stormed to Shawn’s side and yanked his hair backward forcibly. “Now you understand, Spencer? Turnabout is fair play. Either your boyfriend give me that painting or I blow your head!” Rank released his hair suddenly.

Shawn’s head jerked forward. His panting was cut short by the stabbing pain caused by his ribs.

“Time to make the call.” Rank didn’t reach for his own phone. Instead, he reached for Shawn’s in his jacket.

Shawn’s heart inflated when he remembered that Lassiter’s spyware was still in his phone.

“It’s dead,” Rank stated flatly. The bubble burst and Shawn cursed silently. “Tell me his number.”

“You want your kidnappee to tell you, the kidnapper, the ransom call number?!” Shawn almost laughed at the comedic turn. “You must be out of your—”

Rank didn’t even bat an eye. He pointed a gun at him. “Despereaux’s number. Now.”

* * *

Despereaux stood in the SBPD bullpen, watching and at the same time ignoring the chaos displayed in front of him. He was waiting for the final signal before he went his own way. He didn’t want to sneak out too early to draw anyone’s attention.

His phone silently vibrated in his jacket. No one noticed that Despereaux disappeared among them. He picked up the phone while walking on the street.

“Took you long enough,” the voice from the other end said.

“It’s the best I can do. The police are watching.”

“So you know why I called you.”

“Let me hear his voice.” Despereaux hailed a taxi then got in it.

“Hola—” Shawn’s barely audible voice lasted only a second.

“You know what I want,” Rank interrupted. “Give me _The Sonata_ , or your baby boy here dies. Understand?”

“I’ll tell you where the painting is and you can collect it yourself. Leave him out of this.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? The second I let him go, there’s no reason for you to give it to me.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“You come alone. Bring the painting. _Then_ I’ll give you your boy back. And you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Is this because of your cartel boss buyer?”

“You don’t have to ask so many questions. He asked a lot too.” After a short pause, Rank added, “Anyway, there’s no need for you to know everything to bring me the painting.”

“Is he hurt?” Despereaux thought it would be very likely for Shawn to talk himself into troubles just as likely as it would be for him to talk himself out of one.

There was some rustle at the other end.

“Pierre.” This time Shawn’s voice was clear as day.

Despereaux let out a sigh of relief. “Shawn. Are you hurt?”

“No. Um…Not much,” Shawn said. “Since he’s fair enough to let us talk longer—I’ve decided to come with you. To any place.”

“Don’t worry, Shawn. We can talk about this later. You’ll be safe in no time. We can go anywhere you want.”

It was Rank’s voice on the other end again. “Oh, isn’t that sweet? It would’ve been sweeter if you didn’t take my thing. I wouldn’t have had to hurt him in the first place. So remember, this is your own doing.”

“Tell me the location.” Despereaux gritted his teeth.

He looked out of the car window, but his gaze wasn’t focused on anything. Although he knew Rank was just trying to unveil enough guilt for him to give up the painting, he also knew what he said was true on so many levels. Were it not for him, Shawn would’ve been safe. Not arrested, attacked, and kidnapped in a span of two weeks.

* * *

After Rank told Despereaux the location, he hung up the phone and dragged another chair to sit right in front of Shawn.

Shawn didn’t know what he was playing so he asked nervously, “What more do you want? More free psychic intuitions? I normally don’t do readings casually. Most of the time it’s for an investigation. If you read the sign clearly on my window, there were some small words below ‘Psych’—”

“No. I just think since we have some time, we can talk.” Rank was way less anxious than he was before the call. Apparently everything was going according to his plan.

“Talk? Like chat?”

“You have something else to do?”

“No. No. Talk is fine. Actually, talking is one of my best skill sets.” But Shawn was still keeping an eye open in his mind.

“Why did you steal it?” Rank saw Shawn’s mouth opened quickly and knew he was going to refute. “Not you. Him.”

“What if I tell you he just likes it too much? There was a kind of chocolate mousse sold in the bakery behind my high-school years ago. I got addicted to it. If I couldn’t have one every day after school, I’d consider my life unworthy of living.”

“Then I’ll know you’re lying your ass off. And this peaceful conversation will end with your pretty nose hitting the butt of my gun.”

“Tsk! Fine. I guess it doesn’t hurt to let you know. He thinks people like you and your buyer don’t deserve any art.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Rank stood up slowly and kicked his chair to the other side of the room.

Shawn had assumed Rank had calmed down. But obviously that was far from the truth. He didn’t say anything to aggravate Rank any further, lest it landed him another punch or a baseball bat.

“Just because he thinks I don’t deserve it in his idealistic world, I should pay for it with my life?!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t believe that,” Shawn mumbled. “We didn’t know your buyer is coming after you.”

“Oh. You’re sure. That’s great. Fantastic. Let’s see what he feels when I take something of his away.”

Shawn blinked in confusion.

“In case I haven’t made myself clear.” Rank rolled his eyes. “You’re definitely _not_ going to live.”

* * *

Lassiter was driving fast and furiously toward the SBPD when his phone rang. “Lassiter.”

Juliet sounded anxious. “Carlton, Despereaux sneaked out. He wasn’t at the station anymore.”

“Damn it!” Lassiter turned his car by 180 degrees and kept driving. “Okay, O’Hara. I’ll go check his house. Did you check the signal I used to track Shawn’s phone?”

“First thing I did when I got back. His phone must’ve been dead hours ago. The last signal was…”

“Spit it out!”

“Near your apartment.” Juliet was confused and curious. But she didn’t let herself dwell on the unnecessary thought. There was something direr on the line.

Lassiter decided it wasn’t the time to explain either. “I’ll call you later when I find him.”

“Be careful,” Juliet said. But Lassiter had already hung up.

He arrived at Despereaux’s house, just in time to catch him trying to get into a car. Lassiter stormed toward him and grabbed his arm. “What the hell do you think you are doing?!” He glimpsed a gun under Despereaux’s jacket. 

“Getting Shawn back.” Despereaux glared at him and pulled his arm away.

“I told you to cooperate with the police! So what? You’ll just go and hand him the painting?!”

“No. That man is desperate. He’s not afraid of the police. Even if you have him surrounded, he’ll still demand the painting. He’ll use Shawn as a shield to escape. He has nothing to lose. So as long as he doesn’t have his hands on the painting, Shawn’s safe as the leverage.” Despereaux opened his car door.

But Lassiter slammed it shut. “We have a negotiating team for this kind of hostage situation. Go back to the station with—”

“You can call as many backups as you’d like, Lassiter. You do what you think you have to. I’ll do mine. Either you turn around and leave or you can follow me to find Shawn,” Despereaux said. “I know where he is.”

“Or I can arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“So why haven’t you?” Despereaux got into his car. “My guess is that you know there are certain things the police can’t do that I can.”

Lassiter hesitated. He grabbed the car’s window sill and stared at the man that had bombarded the peace around him since his appearance. “Fine!” He growled and wasted no time storming to his own car.

“O’Hara,” Lassiter called her while driving behind Despereaux to wherever he was going. “I’m following Despereaux right now. He has the location but he didn’t tell me. I think he wants to buy himself some time to go in there alone. Trace my car’s GPS. Get our team ready.”

“You didn’t stop him?”

“I tried.” Technically he wasn’t lying. He merely stopped trying at the end.

Despereaux stopped near the Stearns Wharf at the West Beach.

Lassiter pulled up right behind him. “What the…”

Being surprised was an understatement. Part of the reason was that the usually crowded Stearns Wharf was now completely empty. Not a single soul was seen on the boardwalk. And another part of the reason was that this was the place Despereaux and Shawn went on their _cheesy_ first date. Lassiter remembered that. Clearly.


	17. Chapter 17

Lassiter and Despereaux were standing at the starting point of the Stearns Wharf.

“This is a tourist attraction. What happened?” Lassiter asked.

“The wharf has been under construction for a week,” Despereaux answered, looking in the direction where the boardwalk extended using his binoculars.

“Give me that.” Lassiter snatched the binoculars from Despereaux’s hands.

“You’re welcome,” said Despereaux sarcastically.

“They are in one of those wooden houses at the end?”

“That’s what Rank told me.”

After a brief pause, Lassiter asked, “Did he tell you anything else when you talked on the phone?”

“Which part are you referring to?”

“Like—is Spencer hurt?”

“I’m not sure. What I do know is that the faster we get him out of there, the lesser chance he’ll get hurt.”

“What’s your plan?” Lassiter put down the binoculars.

“What do you think his escape plan was?”

“Rank’s?” Lassiter found himself a little speechless because he’d never thought Despereaux would ask his opinion. “Um…If he plans to take away an old painting that was about ten square feet, I’d say he has a boat ready near the house.”

“I agree.” Despereaux promptly started walking toward the end, blatantly ignoring the roadblock.

“Hey! What’s the plan?!” Lassiter took long strides forward, keeping pace with the other man. When Despereaux didn’t answer, Lassiter called Juliet to let her know where they were heading to.

“Stop.” Lassiter raised one hand in front of Despereaux and turned to face him. They were half-way to the end. “You need to tell me your plan.”

“I don’t have a plan. I have to go near the house to come up with one.”

“You sound just like Spencer right now.”

“Spontaneity makes life more fabulous.” Despereaux started moving again.

“No, it doesn’t!” Lassiter grumbled. But at that point, he didn’t have a plan either. So he followed Despereaux.

“He would want me alive so I can get him the painting,” Despereaux calculated. “Shawn has a necessary role to play in his game as well. So he won’t kill him either. But you, well...”

“All criminal minds are linked together or something?”

“That’s just simple deduction.”

“Well, I like to be prepared for the worst”

“What’s the worst in your opinion?”

“Rank gets angry. Shoots all of us,” Lassiter said flatly.

“Your world must be as gray as stormy clouds.”

“It keeps me sane.”

They were near the end. Lassiter raised his forefinger in front of his lips, gesturing Despereaux to be quiet. He bent his back below the level of any windows. But Despereaux didn’t need the detective to teach him how to be stealth. His footsteps were as silent as a cat’s.

As they reached the furthest house, both of them squatted down below a window and peeked inside. But the blinds were pulled down. No gaps allowed them to see anything.

“Great!” Lassiter exclaimed under his breath.

Despereaux didn’t seem to be bothered by this. He started going around the house in circles to see anything that he could turn to his advantage.

* * *

Inside, Rank was getting more and more impatient by the minute. “He should be here by now.”

“Maybe there’s a traffic jam you know. Santa Barbara is not Los Angeles per se, but still…People never walk anymore,” Shawn offered his opinion.

“You’re not worried at all? I thought I made my threats clear. Maybe he wants more explicit pictures.” Rank squinted his eyes, scanning Shawn up and down.

“No! No! He doesn’t want that. No pictures. He only enjoys paintings. Pictures are too realistic for him. He’ll just toss them away. Unless you want to draw a nude portrait of me like the guy did in _Titanic_. We’re over the sea, right? And there’s imminent danger ahead. But I doubt you can recreate my natural beauty.” Shawn winced at the idea of getting a photo shoot right then and there. His hair was tousled. His posture was rigid. His nose either shrunk or was swollen. His lips were parched…“Hey. Can I have some water?”

Rank didn’t answer him.

“Juice would be fine too.”

“Shut up.”

“Dude…There’s something I’ve got to get out of my chest. You should let the police help you. They are good people. Even the overly grumpy, not very funky, big-eared one. It’s not too late to do the right thing now.”

“Strange for you to say, considering you’re mixing yourself with an art thief.”

“He’s turned a new leaf.”

“So much faith for your lover. Such a pity I need to end you eventually.”

“You may think you _need_ it, but the truth is peanut butter and bread don’t want you…”

“What?”

Shawn didn’t know why Lassiter came to his mind right now. This wasn’t his life’s last moment. Rank wasn’t too smart. He wasn’t too hurt. It was just a matter of time Pierre or the police got him out. But with everything that had been happening and keeping him occupied, it just sank in again that he’d given up Lassie entirely hours ago. Wait…Hadn’t he already given him up before his first date with Pierre?

Shawn let out a little laugh. “Why did you choose here? Stearns Wharf. West Beach.”

“It’s just convenient. Stop asking questions.”

Shawn wondered if Pierre just conveniently entered his life as well. But he loved him. He wasn’t lying, wasn’t putting those words in his own mouth because he needed to convince himself. He whole-heartedly craved for his company. He wanted to go to those places with him where no one had ever set foot in. _So what’s the deal with Lassie?_

Gus would suggest him to make a list. But there was no list to make when one of the said choices wasn’t even willing to be on the list.

His thought was cut off when he heard a knock on the door.

* * *

Despereaux finished scanning the house and canvassing the surroundings. They came up with an easy plan.

“That doesn’t sound like what you would normally do, right?”

Despereaux shrugged. “If you want an effective way, you go for simplicity. You ready?”

“Yup.”

Despereaux knocked on the only door of the wooden house. Lassiter waited around the corner where he could see Despereaux clearly while not risking himself to be seen.

The door opened a crake. Rank aimed the gun at Despereaux’s chest.

Lassiter saw Despereaux gestured “2” with his hands behind his back. That meant Rank didn’t use Shawn as a shield to open the door, which also meant Shawn wasn’t in close proximity to him.

“Where is the painting?”

“Let me see Shawn first,” Despereaux said.

Rank opened the door wider. “Raise your hand. Feet apart.” Rank patted him down.

“Is this really necessary?”

Rank pulled out the gun under Despereaux’s jacket. “You tell me.” Then he shoved it under his waistband. The door opened fully.

Granted full entrance, Despereaux stepped inside.

It was time for Lassiter to act his part. He got to the window on the other end of the house and elbowed it forcefully. The window shattered, then glass shreds blocked by blinds dropped to the floor, making a loud noise sending everyone inside the house flinching except Despereaux who knew what was coming.

Before Rank could realize what happened behind his back, Despereaux already knocked him out using bare hands. “Clear!” he yelled. “That’s what your police would say, right?” He collected his own gun and kicked Rank’s gun to a corner, then dragged him to another corner away from the door. Despereaux wasn’t going to leave Rank defenseless against those coming after him after they parted their ways. Lassiter rushed inside.

“Wow!” Shawn was excited to a point where he forgot he was the one being rescued. “That was some awesome action movie material! _Die-hard_ level.”

“You okay?” Lassiter asked, putting his gun back to the holster.

“Yeah. Yeah. Maybe some broken ribs. But nothing too serious.”

Despereaux bent down and planted a light kiss on his lips.

Lassiter rolled his eyes and squeezed his two fists tight. He growled, “Don’t you think it’s better to get him out of the chair first?!”

“I like it.” Shawn smiled toward Despereaux, ignoring Lassiter’s sour comment.

They both started cutting the ropes. Unbeknownst to the two men who were both focusing on Shawn, Rank regained consciousness in the corner and reached for another gun inside the drawer nearby.

Shawn raised his head when all the ropes were cut, only to see a gun aimed at them. “Gun!”

All three of them ducked. A vase on the shelf behind them was shot dead.

Lassiter shot back immediately but missed, followed by Despereaux’s failed attempt as well. All three ran out of the house.

“Keep running!” Lassiter yelled. “The police are at the beach.” The flashing red and blue lights near the end were more endearing than ever.

Shawn couldn’t run as fast. The pain in his ribs and his self-diagnosed concussion were limiting his movement and breaths. But he still had something to say, “Why does he just _happen_ to have another gun?! America’s greatest curse! The amendment which I forgot its number can rot in hell!”

Another shot was fired behind them.

“You need to run faster, Shawn.” Despereaux looked back to the man who was basically just jogging.

“I can’t!” Shawn panted. “My ribs.”

“Maybe you can run faster if you just shut it!” In spite of the fact that Lassiter wanted nothing more than to defend the second amendment and knock some sense into Shawn’s clearly distorted brain, he didn’t lose track of the priority at hand. He could have plenty of time to argue with him after they weren’t being chased by a gunman anymore. Lassiter aimed at Rank again.

Rank didn’t back down and kept chasing as well, clearly pissed. Despereaux and Lassiter gained more distance with Rank, but also with Shawn. They both had no choice but to go back.

“What are you doing?” Shawn asked them through shallow breaths. “Wrong direction. I can zigzag myself.”

Despereaux raised his hand and shot at Rank. There was a bang less than a second later. Rank hit the floor.

“Thank god. I’m out of bullets.” Lassiter sighed with relief.

“I’ll go take his gun and check if he’s really out this time. You two keep running.”

“Careful,” Shawn said.

Lassiter draped Shawn’s arm around his shoulder, half-carrying him forward.

Despereaux wasn’t taking any chance this time. He had his gun raised all the time. But when he got close to Rank, ready to squat down and check where he was shot, he still wasn’t able to see the leg sweep coming. Despereaux dropped to the ground.

When Lassiter heard the sound, he sped up and didn’t look back.

“Wait, wait. What’s happening?” Unlike the detective, Shawn turned his head stubbornly. Despereaux and Rank were wrestling on the ground. “We need to help him!” Shawn stopped running and started heading in the opposite direction.

“You can help no one right now!” Lassiter grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “You get to the beach. I’ll go back.”

Shawn wasn’t willing to budge but the stabbing pain on his side was getting more unbearable. Even walking took a lot of strength. He nodded, trusting Lassiter to handle everything. And he comforted himself with the thought that Rank still needed Despereaux to get his painting.

* * *

“They just ran out!” Juliet shouted, holding binoculars in front of her eyes. She was standing behind a police car on the beach.

The police had snipers on the boardwalk and on the boats floating on the water.

“Make sure you get a clear shot,” Chief said into the walkie-talkie to those on standby.

“They’re still moving, ma’am,” one of the snipers said through his earpiece.

“It seems like Shawn can’t move too fast. Carlton is running back to him,” Juliet was nervously adding her commentary.

Chief could see what was going on by herself clearly, but she didn’t stop Juliet’s mumble. It had been a stressful night.

“Did Despereaux just take down Rank?” Juliet asked no one in particular, craning her neck trying to see more.

“The perp is on the ground. Do we move in?” The voice came behind Chief. A team was planning on getting on the boardwalk.

“Go. But keep your distance.”

“Why keep a distance?” Juliet asked.

“We can’t risk it. They are still too far away. We wouldn’t want a more trigger-happy Rank than he already is. Besides, Despereaux just went back to check.”

Juliet wanted to argue further, but she couldn’t come up with something valid. So she crossed her fingers, hoping all three of them could make it out unscathed, or at least alive.

* * *

After Lassiter made sure Shawn was heading to the beach instead of following him, he ran toward those two rolling on the floor. He’d only managed to take three steps forward when he saw Rank knocked Despereaux out, reaching for a gun near him.

There was no way to be certain whom Rank aimed at in retrospect. Was it the man behind him or Lassiter himself?

Logical thinking could be a tricky thing at times like this. At times when there was no time left whatsoever. Slow-motion didn’t exist in real life. Perhaps only in those 80’s cheesy action movies Shawn was so fond of.

Lassiter rushed back and tackled Shawn. _“A risk well-taken”_ was what was on Lassiter’s mind when he and Shawn were both in mid-air. A bullet charged into his right lower back. Lassiter found it weird how long he kept floating in the air. Shouldn’t he have stopped by now?

Shawn would like to say it was the psychic eye on his back that saw it was Lassiter pushing him down rather than Rank. But the truth was his nose was attacked by a wave of pine-scented air. A scent he had grown accustomed to for the last five years. A scent he immediately associated with a blue-eyed tall detective. He was glad it hadn’t become too negligible for him to entirely miss it, like all those times when his dad kept insisting there wasn’t an awful foul smell when he was gutting the fish.

Shawn didn’t brace himself when he hit the ground. But before he could even tell if the pain resulted from his ribs or him being shot by Rank, a falling shadow caught his eyes. Reaching out his hands without giving another thought, Shawn grabbed a wrist.

Lassiter didn’t hit the floor as Shawn did. Instead, he fell from the boardwalk, plunging straight toward the sea below. There was a large area with no guardrail on one side. He would one day berate himself for not asking Despereaux what was “under construction” exactly.

So there they were, with Lassiter dangling in the air and Shawn lying prone, grabbing his wrist and arm. Shawn didn’t have to see the crimson stain on Lassiter’s shirt to know he was the one struck by a bullet. He knew for the reason that Lassiter didn’t grab him back with his other arm.

Hitting the floor must’ve moved his broken ribs inward and poked his lung. Because breathing just became the hardest chore for him.

He didn’t know if it was that Lassiter had lost enough blood to lose a good deal of weight, or that his two arms and whole body were going numb. Either way, they would lead to a dreadful outcome.

Both Lassiter and Shawn heard the footsteps of dozens of police rushing toward them from far away. But they also discerned Rank’s footsteps coming from the other side. Rank was too close. He was _walking_. He took his time.

“Run,” Lassiter murmured. Every conscious cell in his brain understood Rank’s intention. He had no way out. He would kill Shawn.

Rather than doing as he was told, Shawn gripped Lassiter’s arm tighter. He knew Rank was coming for him. Rank had promised to end him back in the wooden house.

“Run,” Lassiter gritted out the word louder this time, his voice hoarse. He raised his head, looking at Shawn who now squeezed his eyes shut. Lassiter tried to wriggle himself out of his grasp. But it was like Shawn’s hands were attached to him permanently. _Well-manicured hands_ , Lassiter suddenly thought. He had to ask him why his fingernails were so perfect all the time for someone so hyperactive…

Shawn understood if not getting shot by Rank was still on his agenda, he needed to get up and run. At least roll on the ground or crawl rather than being a sitting duck there.

But running away meant letting go.

Rank was closer and closer.

Shawn did the only thing he thought he could do.

He plunged into the sea, still tightly holding onto Lassiter with his numb hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Time After Time,” Aiza Seguerra  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/0GCpUZqNjCGUf9y0dZcBOj)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Aiza-seguerra-time-after-time-lyrics)


	18. Chapter 18

**“It was worth a wound, it was worth many wounds, to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.”**

**—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, _The Adventure of the Three Garridebs_ (1924)**

The dark blue Pacific Ocean devoured the two injured men. One shot in the back. One with a punctured lung.

If breathing on the ground was hard for Shawn already, gasping for air down there was nearly impossible.

When Lassiter hit the water surface, he thought Shawn had let go. And he was relieved that the younger man had finally listened to him once since he waltzed into the station and his life. But as he was struggling uselessly to meet the sweet air above him, he found his fatigued body being _dragged_ upward by his arm. That was when he found out that Shawn was in the water with him. They were ascending. Lassiter stopped his struggle, trusting the man beside him to take control.

When Shawn resurfaced and held onto Lassiter’s chest from the back, Lassiter was quite out of it. Although the rhythmic and fast beating under his arm suggested that Lassiter was alive, he still wanted to hear his voice. Not to make sure. Only to calm himself.

“Lassie…” Shawn whispered close to his right ear. “Lassie…” He tried again.

The man only managed to groan a little.

“Yeah! That’s the spirit!” Shawn was overjoyed but he immediately gritted his teeth when his whole body tensed because of the pain.

Three boats with flashing lights headed toward them.

Shawn sighed with huge relief. At least within his capacity. He squinted his eyes and turned his head to avoid the light as he waved at them.

“Stay with me, Lassie,” Shawn murmured. “We’re getting out now.”

* * *

“Where’s Shawn?” Henry charged into the emergency room, Gus following behind. “How is he?” He asked the two women in the waiting area.

Juliet answered him, “Shawn’s okay. The doctor said he’s got pneumothorax in his left side chest. Basically it means his lung was punctured. By two broken ribs—”

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t think so. He’s being treated in here right now. No need for any surgery. He’s got a mild concussion as well. The doctor also said if everything goes well, he’ll get released tomorrow.”

Henry silently nodded and sat down beside the chief, his facial expression not betraying anything.

But the same thing couldn’t be said to Gus. Everything was painted on his face. “The other two?” Gus asked.

Chief explained this time, “Despereaux was awake not long after he got here. They’ll monitor his condition for several hours before he gets discharged. And…um…Carlton is in surgery...”

Juliet continued for her, “He was shot in the back by Rank, and he was in the water with Shawn for a while. He was conscious before he went into surgery. But we don’t know anything else for now.”

“Can we go see him? I mean Shawn.” Gus needed to make sure his friend was safe by seeing him directly rather than hearing a status report.

“The doctors weren’t finished when we asked. Maybe you can go check again.” 

A nurse led them to where Shawn was in the observation unit. Gus smirked when telling them he used his pharmaceutical salesman personality.

“Hey my loyal gang.” Shawn greeted the group with a grin under his oxygen mask. “Are they okay?”

They knew he meant the two men who neglected every precaution and protocol to save him, especially for a certain head detective, albeit heroically.

“Worry about yourself first, kid.” Henry crossed his arms beside the bed.

“And here I was, believing you thought I was self-centered.”

“I still do,” Henry said harshly. “But you just keep puffing out air through that chest tube for now. They’ll be fine by themselves.”

Shawn didn’t push him further. Pulling more information out of his dad was a lost cause. So he turned to the others instead.

Without any prompt, Gus told him everything he’d learned earlier.

“Oh…” Shawn felt grateful and guilty at the same time. He had been for a while, but Gus’s words only made it worse. “If it weren’t for Lassie, I’d be the one in surgery right now…or even dead.”

None of them said anything afterward as they glanced at each other. Despite the presence of other people, bending his back, Henry ruffled his son’s hair and kissed him on the forehead.

* * *

Lassiter successfully got out of the surgery six hours later. Only Gus and Despereaux were left with Shawn as others went home to sleep or went to the cafeteria to grab food. 

As soon as Shawn heard the news, he started bugging any nurses that dared to set foot in his room. “Can I go now, please? I think my lung has collapsed to its minimum.”

“Ignore him,” Gus said apologetically. “He means it has inflated to its maximum.”

“Are you sure it’s the bigger the better?” Shawn squinted his eyes to look at Gus suspiciously, contemplating about whether Gus was tricking the nurse into keeping him here longer. After all, he thought, the tube just sucked out air from his chest.

“Shawn, I don’t think waiting a little longer would hurt anyone,” Despereaux said. He was reading a book in a chair in Shawn’s room. “It might benefit you.”

“Where did you get a book in a hospital?” Shawn asked, momentarily forgetting his ongoing mission.

“My doctor lent me this for the time being. I believe she kept it in her office. A marvelous woman, I might add.”

Finally, half an hour later, a Doctor came in and discharged Shawn.

“Aw! Aw!” Shawn yelped with each step he took.

“Need a wheelchair?” Gus asked.

“No. He’s just on the second floor. I don’t even need the elevator.” After Shawn said this, he took another step forward. “Ouch! You know what? A wheelchair might give you a chance to exercise. Bring it on.”

* * *

They wheeled Shawn into Lassiter’s room.

Lassiter looked pale, but he was conscious. He rolled his eyes when he saw who just got inside. “Spencer…You just _have_ to be the first one I see when I wake up, don’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t actually set it as a mission, but I’ll consider it in the future,” Shawn bantered with him, glad to see Lassiter had the strength to exercise his weak but dark humor.

Gus tentatively took a glance at Despereaux who also went into the room with them. He heard the might-existing-might-not-existing-probably-existing underlying meaning of their exchange and felt the need to elbow Shawn to warn him not to flirt with another man in front of his boyfriend, even though the said boyfriend was Despereaux.

If Despereaux was disliking what was being displayed under his nose, he didn’t show it.

“Guys, can you give us a minute?” Shawn turned his head to ask his wheelchair drivers.

They both nodded. And Gus pushed Shawn closer so he could be at the side of the bed.

* * *

Despereaux and Gus both leaned on a wall outside of Lassiter’s room. They had never really had a proper conversation before, not without Shawn’s presence.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Despereaux asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

Gus wasn’t convinced telling the man his disapproval of Shawn’s behavior would do anyone any good. So he just swallowed thickly and shook his head.

But Despereaux had already figured it out without Gus actually expressing it. “You’re afraid I might object Shawn’s blatant flirtation with Detective Lassiter. Or you believe it would be better if Shawn commits to just one person, at least on the outside for show, even though I’m not the option you prefer. Am I correct?”

Gus was dumbfounded by what Despereaux said. He worded it perfectly. So Gus didn’t try to deny it. “Aren’t you a bit jealous?”

Despereaux laughed slightly. “Jealousy is an ugly sentiment. I won’t say I’m free of its restraint. I’m merely human. But I try not to let jealousy get the best of me.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Oh no. Far from it. It’s kind of liberating.” Despereaux paused, then he continued, “You’re a man of integrity, Gus. But oftentimes the world isn’t as black and white as you would like to view it. It’s already filled with darkness, so why not hold onto the love you know that exists?”

“Even if it means sharing it with others?”

“No, Gus, I’m not a person who’s big on sharing. I know you see it as Shawn has tangled feelings for me and Lassiter. But what I mean is it’s always a privilege and honor to love someone. And I think it’s simpler and better to focus on that.”

“Last night Shawn told me he’d decided to leave with you.”

A smile slid across Despereaux’s face. “He told me that as well. I can promise you I’ll make your friend happy wherever we end up.”

“If I were you, I’d be a little worried he might change his mind after last night. You know, with Lassiter taking the bullet for him.”

“Like I said, I try not to worry about things that I have no control over. That includes Shawn’s feeling.” Despereaux nodded at Juliet who was walking toward them in the hallway.

He continued, “ _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud._ ”

“Did you just quote from the Bible?!” Gus remembered distinctively Shawn telling him Despereaux wasn’t religious. Juliet shot them a puzzled look.

“From the Bible? Truth be told, I learned it from my cellmate.” After seeing Gus opened his mouth to inquire further, Despereaux continued, “The fact that I’m an atheist doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate and rejoice over the love that is the very foundation of our humanity.”

 _To Shawn, love might be blind_ , Gus thought. That was what he was going to say.

Although he hadn’t agreed with Shawn and Despereaux’s relationship since the very beginning, he couldn’t help but think Despereaux could be a smart choice from time to time, especially now. He could understand what Shawn saw in this man. Despereaux carried a lot of faults from his past, but he was truthful about his feelings and also nonjudgmental.

The problem was he couldn’t get his head around why Shawn was still hung up on Lassiter. And if he was right as he normally was, Lassiter carried the same kind of feeling about his friend. Not only because of their actions last night, but also judging from what he’d witnessed over the last five years—the forever lasting pinning and denial.

But Lassiter represented so many things Shawn despised, and vice versa. At least it seemed like it.

* * *

It was only Lassiter and Shawn now.

Shawn tried on multiple occasions to let words tumble out of him but failed miserably.

Lassiter didn’t even try. He just closed his eyes, waiting for the more talkative man to say the first word.

Shawn did. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” Lassiter said without giving it another thought. To his knowledge, that was what all injured officers would say. He would like to think he’d do so if it were someone else rather than the psychic he knew. But deep down, he still questioned himself if he did what he did only because he knew him. Not only knew, but…

“Then you’re hell of a detective.”

Lassiter didn’t expect Shawn to compliment him so straightforwardly. He almost forgot to breathe. “Um…I guess…I have to say thank you as well,” Lassiter said. “You jumped into the water with me.”

“Nah. Don’t mention it. It’s my job.” Shawn waved an arm in front of him dismissively, echoing what Lassiter said seconds ago.

“Your job is being a fake psychic.”

“Which is comprised of many things, including seeing with my back that it was you who tackled me rather than Rank, and sensing you would’ve drowned if I let go.”

“Yeah. Right. You saw me coming with your third eye.” Lassiter snorted. “Speaking of Rank, was he arrested?”

“Cuffed. Apprehended. Nailed. Collared. You name it. He also confessed, so there’s no trial waiting. He didn’t say anything about the painting though. I think he’s afraid to testify against those who are coming after him.”

The room went silent again.

“Um…” Shawn had another speech prepared before coming into Lassiter’s room. “Also, I’m sorry I went to your apartment yesterday afternoon. I was tempted by those peanut butter and bread in your kitchen cabinet. I guess that was because I’d tasted it when I broke into your home before. I’m always trying to reach for things I can’t have. My dad said I tried to steal a toy when I was only six years old…Ha! Imagine that!”

“I guess if…” Shawn went on with his speech.

But Lassiter didn’t take in what Shawn said afterward. He felt his gut was tied into a knot. He didn’t believe it was because of his surgery. He _knew_ It was because of Shawn’s speech. When he opened his eyes minutes ago and saw Shawn smiling at him, he was quite happy. Yes, “happy” was the right word. He was grateful Shawn was safe. And also for the reason that after the turmoil of last night, he thought, for a second too long, Shawn would try to take a step toward him one more time. For his sake.

Lassiter wasn’t sure what he’d respond if Shawn did.

But Shawn didn’t. Shawn was giving up. So he didn’t get a chance to find out.

“…So I’ll leave with Pierre when I’ve healed entirely. That’s what I promised to my dad and Gus. But you know me. No amount of broken bones can stop me from doing anything.”

Lassiter felt himself drowning. Funny he didn’t feel so suffocated when he was actually struggling in the ocean.

But he put on a faint smile for Shawn, who now finished rambling. “What if it’s the funny bone?” His voice was quiet.

“Wow! That’s good. That’s more than good.” Shawn clapped exaggeratedly. “You’re on your way to become the third Conan O’Brien, considering the fact that you’re both Irish.”

“Why the third?”

“Well the second place is obviously taken.” Shawn gestured himself.

“You are not even Irish!”

“Who says you need to be Irish to be funny?! Geez, Lassie! You really need to work on your sensitivity issues.”

“You—” Lassiter didn’t try to retort back further. It was an endless road. He would’ve lost anyway. But for the last half-minute, which was filled only with usual bickering between them, Lassiter forgot about the pain.

A knock on the door drew both of their attention away.

It was Juliet. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. He’s all yours,” Shawn responded before the actual occupant of this hospital room. Lassiter just nodded.

“I want to check on you before I go to work.” Juliet smiled at her partner.

Gus saw Shawn waving at him from inside the room.

It was time to go. Shawn tightly squeezed Lassiter’s hand before he was pushed outside. Suddenly, Lassiter remembered he had forgotten to ask him about the fingernail thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “No More Wishing,” Hayley Taylor  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/0HCjJx3CrRmG7PF7ZvWqrX)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Hayley-taylor-no-more-wishing-lyrics)


	19. Chapter 19

For the next two weeks or so, everything fell back into a routine. Even for Shawn in some way.

He stayed in Despereaux’s house for the time being because he wasn’t able to put on a shirt by himself or bend down to pick up a key at first. After he got better and became more active, he just found it a nuisance to move back. He went to the Psych office sometimes. But no-field-work rule as Gus had insisted was driving him to the wall. So he put his extra energy by visiting the man still locked in the hospital every single day.

“Spencer!” Lassiter saw Shawn strolled into his room once again. “Even my mother isn’t that consistent like you.” Though he complained and grumbled every time, he had silently accepted it. “What did you bring this time?”

“Since tomorrow is your last day in this horrible drain, I’d like to leave you with my ultimate idea for your next Civil War reenactment.” As he said this, he rolled in a whiteboard.

“We don’t need new ideas. It’s already historical-fact-based to a tee. And you don’t know anything about history.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“You can tell me after I get out of here.”

“And waste the last chance that you’re immobile? So you can run away when I try to present my work? Come on, son!”

“I’m not immobile. I can walk just fine. Get your fact straight.”

“I promise you I have all the facts straight in the map I’m about to draw.” Before Lassiter could protest, Shawn started drawing and spewing words.

After a while, Shawn finished his big project, panting with profuse sweat covering his forehead. Clutching his side, he slumped into an armchair. “That’s enough exercise for the day.”

Lassiter actually paid attention when Shawn was drawing with a black marker like a maniac. As he’d promised, Shawn indeed had all the historical facts straight. For someone who couldn’t sit still for five minutes and found the past boring as hell except for movies and TV shows, he must’ve put in a great amount of work.

Lassiter cleared his throat. “You said this is the last chance?”

“Yeah. You think you’d listen to me at the station?”

“Not because you’re leaving Santa Barbara soon?”

“Well…That might be another small part of the reason.”

“When?”

Shawn mumbled out a date.

“What’s that?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Silence filled the thick air between them. Lassiter tried hard not to act too surprised. He’d known this was Shawn’s plan all along. Nevertheless, an abstract plan was an abstract plan, but a precise date was a precise date. “To where?”

“He said it’s going to be a surprise.”

 _Of course he did_. He looked at Shawn, who seemed to be waiting for him to say something. _What do you want me to say?_ Suddenly it felt like someone had put a filter between them. Or him looking into a disorientating kaleidoscope. Shawn wasn’t so annoying like an itch on his back anymore at that fleeting moment. He seemed…attractive…and warm…and soft...He became an itch on his heart.

“Bon voyage then,” Lassiter said.

Who would remain a regret forever.

* * *

The last day came too fast for everyone.

Thirty-six SBPD uniformed officers were standing outside of the hospital waiting for Head Detective Lassiter to come out. Even Juliet and Chief were in uniform—A rare sight.

“Wow,” Gus exclaimed. “I thought this only happens on TV.”

“Jules, why didn’t I get this sort of treatment?” Shawn gestured to those people who were now only casually chatting with each other.

“Sorry, Shawn, you’re not a cop,” Juliet said. “But you get to have this.” Juliet pulled out a sheet from a duffle bag.

“What?” Gus looked confused.

But Shawn was over the moon at the sight of this.

Juliet explained for Gus’s sake, “Carlton told me Shawn once said he would take down Rank while wearing a sheet as his cape. So he asked me to give this to him. He said it would make him feel better.”

“It certainly does.” Gus sighed, looking at his friend who hopped on a bench nearby.

“Shawn!” Henry stormed toward them. He was also dressed in a police uniform. “You want to crack your ribs again?!”

“Dad.” Shawn eyed him up and down. “This brings back so many memories.”

“And I mistake you for my four-year-old thirty years ago.” Henry pulled at Shawn’s cape. Shawn stepped down reluctantly.

Lassiter’s mother walked out of the hospital and looked around. “He’s ready.” The officers rushed to their individual positions to form two lines on each side of the road. Juliet and Chief were the nearest to the door.

“He didn’t want to be pushed out in a wheelchair,” Juliet said to Shawn and Gus who hadn’t moved beside her. “I was really looking forward to being the one to push him out.”

“It’s nice that he can ambulate by himself,” Gus said.

“That’s just false bravado.” Juliet shook her head.

“Gus, you ready?” Shawn asked. Gus nodded.

“Wait. What are you trying to do? Carlton doesn’t want surprises. He told me specifically this time.”

“Don’t be such a mother hen, Jules. I just reunited Quarterblack once again for this very occasion.”

“Blackapella!” Gus corrected him immediately, then rushed to the end of the line with Shawn where a car was waiting to pick up Lassiter.

The hospital door opened. Lassiter dragged his feet out slowly. All the officers saluted at the same time.

Lassiter had a big smirk on his face as he waved at his coworkers while doing best not to show any pain on his face. Though it was a slow process crawling toward the end, he thought it all went quite well and as expected. Until he heard some familiar voices.

“ _I've been walkin' these streets so long._

_Singin' the same old song._

_I know every crack in these dirty sidewalks of Broadway._

_…_ ”

Lassiter turned and looked at his partner questioningly and accusingly. Juliet shrugged. Then he saw the cappella group waving enthusiastically toward him. He was getting himself all riled up, but he had to agree the music tone was quite soothing. In fact, as a country music fan, the song was just his taste. So he kept walking, letting them be, letting the music distracting him from this agonizing journey.

“...

_There'll be a load of compromisin'._

_On the road to my horizon._

_But I'm gonna be where the lights are shinin' on me._

_…_ ”

“It’s very nice of you.” Lassiter nodded at the cappella group. He finally reached the end, his back already drenched in sweat.

“Told you he’d enjoy it!” Shawn grinned and elbowed Gus.

“Don’t get too cocky. You just got it right this time. Next time, I’m not so sure I won’t shoot you.” The words were out of his mouth so quickly that his brain didn’t catch up. There was probably no next time. Shawn was leaving.

Apparently, Shawn was thinking about the same thing. He gave Lassiter a knowing smile and nodded.

Lassiter got into the car and just stared ahead at the road leading home. Yet it felt like he was heading in the opposite direction.

* * *

At five in the afternoon, Lassiter heard a knock on the door. He didn’t expect the one standing outside would be Gus.

“I want to talk to you about Shawn.” Gus cut to the chase as he shoved Lassiter to the side and let himself in.

“What about him?”

“I think you already have some idea why I came here.”

Lassiter didn’t answer.

“You really want him to leave?” Gus asked.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I’m pretty sure in this case it does.” Gus took a deep breath and continued, “I think it’s an established fact that you two want each other—”

“I have to stop you right there, Guster. That’s not a fact you’re talking about.”

“I knew you would deny it.” Gus shook his head. “He’s leaving, for god’s sake! What’s the good of lying to me and yourself now?!”

“Precisely! Like you said, he’s leaving with his boyfriend. What does it have to do with me?” Lassiter was angry Gus accused him of lying to himself. Only because he had accused himself that almost every night since he discovered his feelings for Shawn. Ages ago. Before Despereaux came into their lives.

“He loves you.”

“He loves Despereaux.”

“So that diminishes it?”

Lassiter glared at Gus. He wanted nothing but to yell back and let Gus hear his piece. But that meant digging out what he had buried for a long time. Anger, on the other hand, was the defense mechanism he was well acquainted with. “He’s been lying to me since day one. Psychic my ass.”

Gus knew it would be hard to talk to Lassiter. But the real scenario was much worse. He laughed bitterly. “Why does _that_ fucking matter?!”

Lassiter was struck by Gus’s words and tone for a second. He had never heard the young man being so infuriated before.

“Why does it fucking matter that he says he’s a psychic?! What does he hurt exactly, hm? Except for your precious pathetic little pride!” Gus paused. Seeing the change in Lassiter’s posture, he calmed down slightly. “He helps people. Just in his own way. I believe even you can see that.”

“So why isn’t he here telling me all this now instead of you? You’re just being selfish, desperately hoping your best friend would stay.”

“Yes, I _am_ being selfish. I want him to stay. But I also want him to be happy.”

“He’s happy with Despereaux.” Lassiter meant what he said, however hard it was for him to admit—Shawn seemed to be content with his relationship, despite their brief interlude in the museum.

“That’s a load of crap.”

“You don’t think so?”

“He is happy with Despereaux. What I think is that you’ve been pushing him away so far you don’t see how much _happier_ you can be together.”

“Oh, so suddenly you can see the future now?!”

“You don’t _see_ the future. You build it.” Jabbing his finger in the air, Gus said vehemently, “If I were able to see your future now, Lassiter, I probably would see a miserable bitter lonely old man who never let anyone come near him. And he wouldn’t dare to look back to the past for even _one_ second.”

Lassiter said nothing. At that point, he wasn’t annoyed. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t feel the need to defend himself. He just stood there, with eyes glassy, the tip of his nose sore.

Gus tried his best not to let his own eyes stung at the sight of a defeated Lassiter and headed toward the door. “One more thing, Lassiter.” Gus turned around. “For Shawn, I think Despereaux might be the more logical and better option now. Funny how things went down in only two months. But you can never predict Shawn’s behavior or feeling with logic.”

Lassiter heard the door closed behind him. Big drops of tears fell down his face. He didn’t try to hold them back or wipe them away. After all, he was alone now. No one could see how hurt he was. Perhaps no one ever would.

* * *

Despereaux and Shawn had packed up everything they needed. Both of them liked to travel light so there wasn’t much work to do.

It was eight in the evening, they were snuggling on the sofa in Despereaux’s house.

“A little trivia before we go,” Despereaux said. “This house isn’t—”

“Isn’t yours. Not exactly. It’s the Newmans’ old house.”

“How did you know?”

Shawn just raised a finger to his temple.

Despereaux didn’t try to dig further. “I guess you have figured out where we are going as well.”

“Athens, Greece.”

“I need to work harder in the future if I want to surprise you.” Despereaux stood up, reaching out his hand.

But Shawn didn’t take it. Holding a cushion on his laps, he rocked back and forth. He ought to be charging into the new life ahead, touching and licking the freedom that was within arms reach.

“You ready to go, Shawn?”

 _Lassiter_ , who had been shooing him away since the first day they met, was all that was in his mind. After a moment, Shawn closed his eyes and said, voice low and quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Despereaux heard him clearly, perhaps that was because he had been prepared for what he was going to hear. But he still needed to ask, “What are you sorry for?”

“I—I can’t leave…I love you, but…”

But he loved Lassiter more, Despereaux thought. Hovering above the stressed-out form, Despereaux found himself back on their first date. Maybe he had known from the very beginning that he was fighting a losing battle. A battle which started out as a simple dinner where Shawn didn’t hesitate to choose to tease Lassiter sitting across the street to comfort his nerves.

“What if I stay?” Despereaux ventured.

Shawn looked up at Despereaux, surprised. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s not what I was trying to say. It’s not about where…”

It was a failed attempt. Despereaux knew what actually mattered to Shawn—He wasn’t Lassiter.

Slowly, Shawn stood up. He took a step forward but stopped himself abruptly. He wanted to hug Despereaux, but he wasn’t sure whether Despereaux felt hurt or boiling rage inside. But Despereaux finished the distance between them for him. He wrapped an arm around Shawn’s waist pulling him close, another hand reached into Shawn’s hair, cupping the back of his head, “I’ll miss this splendid hair so much.”

Resting his face on the man’s shoulder, Shawn chuckled. He stroked Despereaux’s back. “I hope you won’t feel lonely without me on the road.”

“I’m a loner by nature.”

“Yet, you chose me to be your companion.”

“Best decision I’ve ever made. Never will I believe two months are enough for us when I think about our days.” Despereaux pulled away. He walked toward his suitcase.

“Can I kiss you?” Words fell out before Shawn could stop them. “One last time. If you want. I don’t want to impose or anything. It’s fine. Just—”

Despereaux shut him up with his lips. The kiss, like their usual ones, was soft and enthralling, leaving both of them with lingering taste in the heart.

“Bye, Shawn.”

“Bye, Pierre.”

**“It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man** **has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him.”**

**—Oscar Wilde**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I Will Always Think Of You,” Jane Krakowski, Colman Domingo  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/3OrqExOwr13y6UCI1LGhA4)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Jane-krakowski-colman-domingo-i-will-always-think-of-you-annotated)


	20. Chapter 20

At ten o’clock at night, Lassiter went out of his apartment and called a taxi. He gave the driver an address. In twenty minutes, he was standing in front of Mee Mee’s Fluff and Fold. He could see the lights inside were on.

He didn’t think about anything. He knocked.

The door opened. But it wasn’t who he came to see. It was an old guy with a big belly. “Who are you?”

“Lassiter. I’m looking for Shawn Spencer.”

The old fellow grinned immediately upon hearing the name. “Oh, that young guy. So much energy in him. All the time. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Where is he?”

“He moved out hours ago. I’m his landlord…”

Ears buzzing, Lassiter didn’t hear anything afterward. This was the last period of their story. It wasn’t written because Shawn chose to leave but because Lassiter left it there a tad too early—The tiny dot that ended everything. Lassiter put it there by himself. He was too late.

“…You know, he damaged a lot of the furniture, even the walls. Are you his friend? I think you can—” The landlord saw Lassiter turned and walked away. “Hey! That’s rude, young man. I’m still talking!” 

Lassiter took another taxi back home.

* * *

Lying in his bed, Gus’s words incessantly rang in his ears. They were like a beating drum, a ticking clock, counting down to the last second. But the last second of what? This was the last second. Shawn had left. He was alone again. He never wasn’t alone, truth be told. They never had a relationship.

Not proper colleagues. Not actual friends. Not in the least lovers. But the loss he felt was more intense than anything he’d ever tasted. So what did he lose exactly? Perhaps, if he tried to be honest with himself at this moment, he could see clearly what he had lost.

It was the possibility of their future. Together.

There wouldn’t be an awkward first date.

A proposal in their living room.

A marriage till death do they apart.

Anniversaries only belonging to them.

An adopted baby crying in the cradle.

Arguments about what lunch should the kid take to school.

Long walks on the beach together after retirement.

Last words whispered into the ear of his love on his deathbed.

…

There wouldn’t be anything. That night, Lassiter had a light sleep that he thought was dreamless.

* * *

The next day morning, in the SBPD, everything was in its usual place. No one paid attention to the empty chair which was normally occupied by their head detective. Even Juliet, who buried her head deep in the paperwork. It had been more than two weeks since it became empty.

No one there was privy to Lassiter’s inner world. They had their guesses, but never confirmed theories. For one reason only—Lassiter refused to share. So they didn’t ask. And they never listened carefully. Most people had a certain degree of sympathy for this man, and men like him who closed themselves off for various reasons. But they grew tired eventually. After all, people tend to focus on themselves.

Lassiter valued his privacy. But he also desired to be understood.

So when Lassiter slowly walked into the bullpen, trying to avoid any questioning gaze thrown at him, he wanted nothing more than those people to try and understand the torment he was going through without him saying anything.

Or did he not deserve it all along?

“Detective!” Chief opened her office door. “You’re on leave! You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Just picking up some stuff,” Lassiter mumbled. Without looking up for common courtesy, he walked past her to his desk.

He stood in front of his desk, not knowing what he wanted to get.

“Carlton, are you okay?” Juliet’s voice flew into his ears. But it sounded like from another dimension. “If you want anything, you could’ve just called me. I can bring it to you anytime.”

“Thanks, O’Hara. I can manage on my own.”

“Carlton—”

“I said I’m fine!”

Juliet went back to her desk. She didn’t take it personally. She knew when it was better to leave her partner alone.

Lassiter kept staring forward. _Maybe some case files. Maybe some letters I haven’t finished…_

“Maybe this SBPD hoodie you gave me.”

He turned around hurriedly and landed his eyes on where the voice was coming from.

Shawn was standing there, holding up the dark blue clothes.

The same old Shawn.

Lassiter’s mouth was dry. The only thing that was working on his body was his eyes. Even though those eyes only bored into another set of eyes at this moment, not traveling anywhere else. Different than his. But so familiar.

“Still remember me? I’m Shawn. Shawn Spencer. Head Psychic of the SBPD.” Shawn saw Lassiter didn’t answer, so he continued, “I went to your apartment earlier to bring you this. You weren’t there. So here I am.”

“I went to your apartment last night to ask you to stay. You weren’t there.”

Shawn didn’t know what got into Lassiter that brought out this pure honesty in him. He would really love to fold it properly in his pocket to appreciate it whenever possible. “I was going to leave, so I moved out. I’m staying at Pierre’s house. Well, technically it’s not his. It’s Ms. Newman’s old house. The curator. It’s a whole nother story.”

“He didn’t leave either?”

“He left. He’ll be traveling the world in the comfort of his own suitcase.”

“You stayed.”

“I stayed.”

It was like a map being unraveled in front of Lassiter. A map of a scavenger hunt. Scattered tiny pieces of life with Shawn down the road were his reward. “What now?”

“I’m still holding up the hoodie. Do you want it?”

“You can keep it.”

“And you can keep my pajama tops,” Shawn grinned mischievously. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not much of a planner. Maybe you are, Mr. Who-knows-his-kid’s-name. To me, It’s always going to be living one day at a time.”

“How about we get some coffee right now?”

“I’d love that.” Shawn’s smile was so infectious he could see the corners of Lassiter’s mouth raised slightly. “One day at a time. One gay at a time,” he said quietly as he stepped closer to the detective.

* * *

...

Since their first awkward date where Shawn accidentally spilled hot coffee onto Lassiter’s laps, thirty years had passed in a snap, like a meteor shooting across the sky. Time went forward without a care in the world as they tried to catch up. It had been too fast and too slippery.

Over the last three decades, Lassiter tried his best to do some romantic gestures, but they never went according to his plans. They could even be disastrous. Shawn didn’t care that Lassiter couldn’t think of something more creative. He had the most bizarre ideas in the world.

They both forgot anniversaries sometimes. But neither of them held each other accountable. After all, every day with each other was already special enough. Shawn gave up making his classic pineapple upside-down cakes using the easy-bake oven during the third year of their marriage. Instead, he learned how to bake them using the real oven in his house. They tasted nothing but ordinary. But to Lassiter, that was the rightest flavor in his life. 

They lived in the Newmans’ old house, Despereaux’s old house, or “a ’60s housewife home” as Lassiter once described. Shawn asked Lassiter not long after he moved in why he was okay with living here. Lassiter shrugged and told him it didn’t feel as awful as it sounded. He said it was just a house. “Home is wherever you are, Shawn.”

One day, they received an anonymous gift. It was a painting called _The Sonata_. A forgery—They eventually found out because Lassiter insisted to have it appraised. But they still hung it on a wall in their living room.

Shawn became more responsible and rational, and at the same time, Lassiter became more relaxed and tolerant. There were bumps on the road, especially when they first started. Shawn still drove Lassiter up the wall once in a while. Mostly about TV programs. That didn’t matter much to them though. Because those times weren’t the theme of the sonata they were playing.

...

* * *

** August 2040 **

It was only a warm day in Santa Barbara.

Hours ago, two men were at the comfort of their own home.

…

_“You ready to go, Shawn?_

_Shawn was sitting on their sofa, elbows digging in his knees. “How long do we have?”_

_“About an hour,” Lassiter answered. No matter how much he felt the need to be punctual in his everyday life, he didn’t want to rush Shawn on this particular day._

_“Can we go for a walk afterward?” Shawn rubbed his eyebrow nervously. Nausea was building inside his stomach._

_“Sure.”_

…

Lassiter leaned on a big oak tree in the cemetery. He was waiting for Shawn, who was the only one left on the lawn after the funeral, except for himself.

Shawn wanted some alone time with his dad.

They had been preparing for it. Henry even stubbornly arranged half of the event himself. He had smiled at Shawn and told him it was just the circle of life at the last minute. But no preparation was enough for Shawn to swallow the bitter truth without choking.

Shawn touched the tombstone with his fingertips gently. Then he shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“Seven,” Shawn said. “There were seven hats at your funeral. Four of them were police hats. Let’s admit it—we are not British Royals.”

Shawn’s smile was draining away.

“You know, it’s just stupid. The hat game. Why not how many boots, earrings, or even bald guys? No, scratch the last one. That way I had to count you in every time.”

“I don’t blame you. No. I really wish you had already known that…I mean, how could I? You taught me everything. Although I don’t like your method. How could I—”

“I don’t know h—how many mountains there are in the world, or just in Santa Barbara. But you are—by far—the most—most solid one I’ve ever leaned on, Dad…”

“My life is pretty awesome now. I just want to tell you again. I don’t have it all. That’s for sure. But um…I’m happy. Sometimes I don’t even think I deserve it…What more can I ask for? Maybe…maybe you being here by my side longer…”

“I still hate fishing. Never liked it. Lassie can attest to that…But I really want to go fishing with you one more time…Just one more time…You don’t even need to buy me any ice cream…”

“Did I make you proud, Dad…”

Shawn couldn’t say another word. He wiped his face with his sleeves and sniffled several times.

He turned around and walked toward the one who was waiting for him.

* * *

“How can the sky be orange and purple at the same time?” Shawn asked while walking.

They were at the West beach once again in the afternoon after the funeral. The loud laughter of children and the sound of the wind blowing palm tree leaves were amidst everything every time.

Since Lassiter’s retirement from the SBPD, they came here almost every day to take a stroll. They tried other less crowded beaches, but none suited them better. They felt a special bond to the sand, the wind, and this small portion of the Pacific Ocean.

“The sun is going down,” Lassiter said. “The sun is orange. And…I’ve never wondered why it can be purple.”

“Well, you learn something new every day.”

“We didn’t learn anything, Shawn.” Lassiter chuckled. “You asked a question and I had no answer.”

“Ah, that doesn’t matter.” Shawn waved his arm in front of him. “It’s just when I was young, I never thought I would be someone who cares about this sort of thing in life, you know. The things that happen under your nose every day, over and over again.”

“Things that are boring.”

“Not everything is boring. They just aren’t new. Like those times when I trimmed your hair. Can’t get enough of it.”

“I’m thinking about letting you take full charge of it. My hair looks better than when I went to the salon. Who would have known you have that kind of skill?”

“I was a hairdresser for a month.”

Lassiter stopped walking and turned to look at Shawn, his eyebrows shooting up. “You never told me that. It’s been decades since we knew each other, and you never thought you should mention that to your husband?”

“Lassie, I’d had fifty-seven jobs before I met you. Even if I’ve told you every one of them, you won’t remember. So let’s just pick up one at a time on the road, and hope you can recite all of them before we meet our maker.” Shawn crossed his fingers in front of Lassiter’s face. They started strolling again. “Besides, You knew all of them already technically. You had my record in your hand on day one.”

Lassiter shook his head resignedly, but his smile just grew wider.

* * *

_…_

_Under Santa Barbara skies,_

_day after day,_

_Shawn Spencer stayed._

_For the lives he cared for._

_And for the one he loved most._

_So he could watch the same sunset,_

_with the same lanky detective,_

_for the rest of his life._

_…_

_In the attic of a boy’s childhood home with a red roof_

_lay several boxes of toys._

_The boy’s father never threw them out._

_He thought it carried too many memories,_

_and the boy might want them someday._

_In one of those boxes,_

_under more than fifty marbles,_

_buried an action figure._

_The boy only got one_

_the day his father took him to the store._

_It was the one he tried to sneak into his pocket._

_A cowboy._

_He never found out if he’d made the right choice._

_But he never regretted the choice he’d made either._

_He took it home and didn’t let go._

_He woke up every day afterward,_

_believing he wouldn’t trade it for anything else._

_So maybe it was as simple as that._

_…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sinking Sun (Acoustic Version),” Mt Warning  
> If you use Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/1UXivDFqMkNQx6BrERUavy)  
> If you want lyrics but Spotify doesn't give you lyrics: [here](https://genius.com/Mt-warning-sinking-sun-acoustic-version-lyrics)
> 
> *Thanks to all the readers who have put up with my crude writing style and survived against all odds.


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